#im glad it was this prompt and not something else though. this ones way easier for me to work with

[felidthing]

this essay is basically "condense why you think you should go here into 500 words" and boy is it DIFFICULT

[jaime-brienne-fic-exchange]

Exchange Posting Guide

Hello, friends and frenemies! We are less than three days away from the collection opening, which means I have a tension headache every morning I wake up and remember that I have to finish my exchange fic. The no-fault defaulting deadline has passed, but if you realise you will not be able to finish on time please, please let us know ASAP anyway so we can get a knight writer to write your recipient a gift.

On the other hand, if you have completed your exchange fic draft, please remember to tell us before the 1st! About a third of the participants already confirmed they’ve finished their fic, and we say:

Okay, now with the collection opening soon, here’s some FAQ on posting!

First off, how dare you?

Honestly, I ask myself that all the time, and the answer is there is no answer. We knew what an exchange would be like. Chances are, you did too when you signed up because many of you were here last year. We have no one else to blame but ourselves.

How does posting work?

The exchange portal will open on August 1st at 12pm AEST. Once it opens, use AO3 to upload your fic as usual:

Most of the upload process will be exactly the same as usual, but you need to fill in the following two fields:

Fill in the first with “JaimeBrienneFicExchange2021” (It should autofill, but please be careful to select the right collection! This one is the one we're using. Alternatively, you can go straight to that collection and click the “Post to Collection” button on the top right under the banner once the collection is open.)

Type in your recipient’s AO3 name in the second field. Double check your original prompt to ensure you have the correct name. A few people have different tumblr/AO3 names and we don’t want any fics to go awry.

If you've already made an AO3 draft before the 1st, make sure you add it to the collection and put in your recipient's username in the fields we mentioned above, and make sure you change the date when posting (or your fic will be buried). Be aware it can cause some shenanigans where the fic may not appear at the top of the page.

After that, it’s as simple as clicking post! Your fic will be submitted to the exchange and automatically be made anonymous. As the author, when you open your own fic, it will say ‘YourUsername (Anonymous)’, but to other users it will simply say ‘Anonymous’. Author’s names will not be revealed until August 21st, when we click the button to reveal them.

Feel free to reply to comments during that week. As long as you are logged into the account that posted the fic, all of your comments will also be anonymised.

If any of this process is confusing to you, PLEASE reach out to one of the organisers (nire-the-mithridatist/slipsthrufingers/firesign23/samirant/im-auntie-social)! We’re happy to hold your hand through the process 🤗

What about Lil’ Oathkeepers?

I’m glad you asked, imaginary exchange participant that’s totally not me talking to myself! A Lil’ Oathkeeper is a gift that can be any size and shape. It can be art! A video edit! A moodboard! A fic shorter than 1000 words! Or… a fic longer than a 1000 words, but you probably know that. Anyone (you don’t even have to be signed up to the exchange) can make and gift a Lil’ Oathkeeper. We’ll be releasing the prompt spreadsheet and posting instructions on the 1st!

Why is the exchange opening a day earlier than you said?

Because Slips has set the time on the exchange to suit her own timezone. She has to stay up till after midnight to watch F1 cars go vroom vroom and had to deal with being spoiled for every single episode of Game of Thrones on Tumblr and Twitter because it aired in the US while she was at work. This is her own petty little vengeance and she will not apologise for that.

Also it’s easier for her to keep everything straight in her head this way. Mathematics is not her strength. We’re kindly moderators though, so here’s a handy timezone conversion for you.

Why do I need to let you know by the 1st that I’ve finished my fic if I can post it anytime during the following week?

So we can find a knight writer ASAP. The sooner we know that you won’t be able to complete your fic, the sooner we can find someone to fill in for you. We don’t want anyone to be disappointed.

Do I have to post ON the 1st of August? I’ll be AFK for the day because my cat has a piano recital!

No, you can post it anytime between the 1st and the 7th. If you can’t or don’t want to post it on Sunday, then you can absolutely wait until later. We anticipate that the bulk of fics will be posted over the weekend, but if you want to post it on the 6th, then that’s absolutely your choice. Just be mindful that your recipient may be worrying why they haven’t received one.

Also tell your cat we’re rooting for them!

I really overshot the 1k limit and need to post multiple chapters. Should I post them together and drop my 40k prompt fill in the tag all at once, or can I stagger it throughout the week?

You must have a complete posted story by the 7th of August, unless you have reached out to us to make alternate arrangements. If you want to post your story over the week, you can. If you want to post it all at once, you can. As long as your prompter gets a completed fic in the posting window, we don’t mind.

(Also, look at your life, look at your choices! It was a 1k minimum!!! Buncha overachievers in this fandom, I swear 😂😂😂)

Can I thank my beta in the notes of my story?

Absolutely you can! The betas of the fandom be working HARD this week, they definitely deserve recognition. Just be mindful of including anything in your notes that might reveal who you are. You could choose to name your beta, or just thank them generally and add their name after authors have been revealed.

What if I don’t receive a story?

It might be because your author hasn’t posted it yet - they have the full week from the 1st to the 7th to post their story. It also might be because your fic needed a knight writer to write it. If this is the case, know that your knight is probably working very diligently to complete it, but might not be able to complete it within the window. If it looks like your fic will be significantly delayed (like until after authors are revealed) we will contact you directly to let you know what’s up.

What’s the etiquette around thanking my author?

A kudos and a comment is pretty standard. It’s up to you how long your comment is; we don’t write comments with our heads, we write them with our hearts. Just keep in mind that a person out there spent time working on something just for you and make sure you show your appreciation, even if the story isn’t exactly what you expected!

Can I promote my story?

Please don’t do this until authors have been revealed through the collection.

Can I rec my gift story?

Absolutely! Share the love! You can choose to rec it while it’s still anonymous, or wait until the authors are revealed. It’s up to you.

I’m not participating in the exchange, but I want to get into the spirit of the week. What can I do?!

Well firstly, read any of the 102 fics we expect to be posted that week! Read them and enjoy them! Leave a kudos! Leave a comment! Leave ten comments! Write rec lists and share them on Tumblr or Discord or TikTok, wherever it is that the cool kids hang these days!

What’s for dinner, nire?

Chicken, seasoned with my own tears.

I have another question that hasn’t been answered in the FAQs

Either send us a message through tumblr, or get in touch with one of the organisers privately. We’ll get back to you ASAP!

[queenofcats17]

The Ink Demonth 30

So, after seeing this post, I wanted to write it. 

I have just realized that @hello-im-not-a-possum is the originator of this AU idea, so this is for them.

This is old and I decided to repurpose it for the “Partner” prompt

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Henry…honestly wasn’t sure what was going on.

He’d left the infirmary after getting the valve wheel and had been greeted by…a sight he hadn’t seen before. It was a Boris wearing pants, suspenders, a shirt, and a Bendy mask on the side of its head. And it was holding a dustpan.

Henry couldn’t help but stare. He wasn’t sure where this Boris had come from and where it had gotten a shirt of all things. He was assuming this was Sammy. Mostly because of the dustpan and the mask, as well as the fact that this was where Sammy usually popped up.

“….Hi,” Henry said slowly. 

The Boris raised its dustpan menacingly. Henry took an instinctive step back.

“Hey! Wait!” He put his hands up, scrambling to find something to appease the irate music director.

This was a change, so maybe he could pick Sammy up as a companion. Maybe he could save him. But he had to act quickly. Sammy in this state wasn’t exactly the patient sort.

He held up a can of soup. “D-Do you want some soup?” He asked with a shaky smile. 

The Boris slowly lowered its dustpan. 

“You would offer me sustenance?” It asked with Sammy’s voice.

“Yeah, sure.” 

For a moment, Sammy stared at Henry. Then he dropped the dustpan and sunk to his knees. 

“My Lord,” he gasped, lowering his head. 

Henry grimaced, kneeling and rolling the soup can to his former friend. This was weird, but he could work with it. 

“Do you…want to come with me?” Henry asked slowly.

“I would follow you anywhere, my Lord,” Sammy said without a hint of sarcasm or insincerity.

“Okay. Cool.” Henry nodded and turned away. “Well, let’s get going.”

Sammy discarded his mask and followed without another word.

Henry hadn’t been entirely sure how they’d get from the Music Department to Boris’ safehouse, but luckily for him the Ink Demon still triggered to chase them. It seemed generally displeased that Sammy was with Henry now, and grew especially displeased when Sammy tried to attack it.

“Sammy, no! We gotta go!” Henry yelled as he dragged Sammy through the hallways. “We are not fighting it!”

“But I must protect you!” Sammy protested, waving his ax in the general direction of the quickly gaining Ink Demon.

“While I appreciate that, I’d rather have you alive!” Henry responded. “I’m not going to lose you again!”

Hearing this made Sammy abruptly stop swinging, which made it considerably easier to drag him. Henry only noticed how much Sammy’s tail was wagging once they had successfully escaped the Ink Demon.

“Sammy? Are you alright?” Henry asked.

Sammy didn’t respond, just staring ahead with a dreamy look while his tail vigorously wagged.

“My Lord values me,” he whispered to himself.

Henry couldn’t help but sigh. This was going to be a thing he would have to deal with, huh? At least Sammy was alright. And the tail wagging was pretty cute.

It was at that moment that the bacon soup can rolled into view and Boris poked his head around the corner.

Sammy jumped into action, getting in front of Henry and brandishing his ax.

“Speak your name and state your purpose!” He demanded.

Boris whimpered and moved away, ears drooping.

“Sammy, it’s alright, he’s a friend,” Henry said, getting between Sammy and Boris. “He’s going to help us.”

Sammy narrowed his eyes, pausing for a moment before slowly lowering his ax.

“Very well,” he said. “Rejoice, hound, for my Lord has chosen to spare you.”

Boris looked over at Henry with an expression that radiated confusion.

“I know, he’s kind of weird.” Henry smiled apologetically and patted Boris’ head. “But he’s on our side this time.”

Boris nodded, although he still regarded Sammy warily on their way back to the safe-house.

.

It didn’t take long after they got to the safe-house for Sammy to become incredibly attached to Boris as well. The majority of this was because Boris had provided them both with bacon soup. It also helped Sammy to see Henry interacting positively with Boris. Seeing how much Henry cared about Boris convinced Sammy that the wolf was to be trusted. And more importantly, protected.

This meant when the time came for Alice to steal Boris away, Sammy fought her off tooth and nail. So when Henry woke up, he was greeted with two cartoon wolves, ready to continue helping him on his journey.

Even before that, though, Henry found himself incredibly glad to have Sammy around. Yes, the former music director tended to throw himself into dangerous situations with no regard for his own personal safety, but he was also incredibly helpful with dealing with the corrupted Butcher Gang members and Searchers.

And it was really nice to have someone else to talk to, even if Henry did still have to deal with Sammy’s prophet talk. He hadn’t realized the toll it had taken on him to have to go through all of this alone and almost completely silent.

“You know, I’m really glad you’re here, Sammy,” Henry remarked as they headed down to level 14.

They had finished with all of Alice’s errands except for the one on the Projectionist’s level and Henry wanted to express his appreciation now in case the Projectionist killed Sammy. Because Henry was almost certain Sammy would immediately try to fight the Projectionist.

Sammy blinked, clearly surprised by this comment, and quickly looked away. “I’m glad I can be of service to you, my Lord.”

“It’s not just ‘being of service’,” Henry insisted. “You’re a good ally to have and I’m glad me and Boris have you to help watch our backs.”

Sammy said nothing, although his tail began to vigorously wag.

Boris made a noise that might have been a laugh and hugged Sammy. The relationship between the two of them had improved even further since the safe-house, which made Henry happy to see. 

“I am…glad that you both enjoy my company,” Sammy said slowly, tail wagging even more vigorously at the hug. “…Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Henry smiled and patted Sammy’s shoulder.

The elevator reached level 14 a minute later, and Henry and Sammy got out.

Henry approached the railing, scanning the ink flooded level below. If they were lucky, maybe they could avoid the Projectionist.

Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to be in the cards.

“Ssh…There he is.” Alice’s voice came through the speakers as the Projectionist walked out of one of the doorways. “The Projectionist. Skulking in the darkness. You be sure to stay out of his light, if you don’t want trouble. Just bring me back the pieces I need.”

“Alright. We need to get the ink hearts and avoid him,” Henry whispered. “So don’t go fighting him, okay?” He looked over to make sure Sammy understood, only to see that Sammy was already jumping over the railing to go attack the Projectionist.

“Fuck!” Henry all but sprinted down the stairs to where Sammy was attempting to defeat the Projectionist.

Thankfully, they were able to take him out before Sammy was killed, although Henry did die at one point. But, as usual, he was resurrected at a Bendy statue.

“The monster has been defeated!” Sammy proclaimed proudly once the Projectionist fell.

For a moment, Henry just stood there, catching his breath. Then he grabbed Sammy by the shoulders and all but slammed him against the wall.

“M-My Lord?” Sammy’s eyes widened, taken aback by Henry’s sudden violent gesture. Henry had never behaved like this toward him before.

“Stop doing that!” Henry yelled.

“S-Stop doing what, my Lord?”

“Stop just running into danger like that!” Tears were welling up in Henry’s eyes.

“But I…I must protect you,” Sammy said.

“Then don’t try to die!” Henry’s grip on Sammy’s shoulders tightened slightly. “If you want to protect me then stay!” His voice dropped in volume as he began to quietly sob. “Please. I can’t lose you again, Sammy. Please.”

Sammy paused, unsure how to react. On one hand, he felt he needed to defend his Lord from whatever threat might arise, taking preemptive action if needed. On the other hand, it was clearly upsetting his Lord that he was putting himself in danger. But why did it matter? Sammy was but a humble servant of his Lord. His life was of no consequence.

Still, if his Lord wished for him to cease these actions, he should obey.

“Very well,” he nodded solemnly. “I will…Try not to behave so recklessly in the future.”

“Thank you,” Henry whispered, pulling Sammy into a partner. “I…I know you don’t think of yourself like this but…I consider you my friend. And my partner.”

Sammy’s tail began to vigorously wag once more, which got a laugh out of Henry.

“Alright.” Henry pulled back with a tearful smile. “Let’s, uh, let’s go get those ink hearts and get back to Alice so we can get out of here.”

Sammy’s tail abruptly stopped wagging and his ears drew back.

“I still don’t see why we must play her games,” he grumbled as he followed Henry into the labyrinth.

“I know I know.” Henry nodded as he scanned the corners for ink hearts. “But she controls the elevator.”

Not to mention, they needed to follow the script, even with this change.

Sammy grumbled under his breath, but said nothing more on the subject. Instead, he began to sniff the air. Before Henry could ask what he was doing, Sammy was off like a shot.

“Hey! Sammy! Where are you going?!” Henry scrambled after him.

It turned out Sammy could sniff out the ink hearts. Which was unexpected (even though Sammy was currently a canine), but not unwelcome, and ended up cutting the time Henry usually spent searching in half. This skill also helped them get out of the labyrinth since Henry hadn’t picked up the ink heart on the platform in his hurry to save Sammy.

As they grabbed the last ink heart and got back in the elevator, Henry once again thought about how happy he was to have Sammy there with him. He wouldn’t be alone this loop. Not even for a second.

[tobiosmilktea]

I really like the hidden feelings hc you wrote! And was wondering if you could do them for,,,,ushijima, akaashi, Osamu and kageyama🥺👉👈

hidden feelings with ushijima, akaashi, osamu, and kageyama (vol. 2)

original prompt: in which you tell your best friend that you were in love with someone else... but that someone else is actually them

a/n: AHHH im glad you all liked the first part! lowkey they were really fun to write so i hope you guys like this one as well

— u. wakatoshi

i kinda suck at writing ushijima, so bear with me on this one uh

one of the biggest things about toshi when he likes someone is that he respects them fully and looks up to them at times, so it surely intensifies when the person he likes is his best friend

and because of this, he fully respects the idea of you liking someone even though he affects him to the very core

it started off like this:

you have been incredibly close with shiratorizawa’s ace ever since you two met in middle school and even then he was known as an amazing volleyball player, not to mention he was super intimidating even as a first year in middle schooler

never in a million years have you ever thought that you would even become friends let alone become best friends as you felt you two had nothing in common

toshi was super into volleyball and athletic meanwhile you stuck with your academics

really the only thing you and him had in common was that you two had the same homeroom for the majority of your time here at shiratorizawa academy

but here you two were, in the midst of an awkward plateau in your friendship that only you can be blamed for

tendou satori, in his loud and boisterous glory often hung around you and toshi and quickly found out about your feelings for the vb captain

granted, you were quite blunt about your feelings for toshi, but as the naive individual he was who new nothing about love besides his feelings for volleyball, he usually overlooked your attempts at casual and harmless flirting

and since you two were now in your final years of high school together, you couldn’t help but feel dejected at the fact you would inevitably go your own separate ways

“just confess to him dumbass!” tendou would tell you (more like shout, but it’s not like ushijima would even spare a blink at that)

“toshi doesn’t seem like the guy who has romantic feelings for someone, satori.” you sighed doubtfully

“so?” the redhead pressed, “what’s the worse that can happen?”

you scoff, “umm,, rejection homie, duh??”

“you don’t have to necessarily confess to him, (y/n).” he suggests, “you could always ask if he’s into anybody and if he says that he likes you, then BINGO!”

you were still hesitant about it though, but as the year was ending in a couple months you literally had nothing to lose

you walked up to ushijima after practice, walking back towards the dorms

since the academy’s campus was gigantic for no reason, it allowed enough time for you two to talk privately

“toshi,” you started, your heart jumping into your throat each time your arms would briefly brush against each other. “do you like anyone?”

you looked up at him, searching for an answer within his visage but it was deadpanned per usual

“sure,” he muttered, “i like you—”

your breath hitched and your heart was beating so fast you could combust

‘—and i like tendou and semi and everyone else i know. they’re great friends.”

oh how your excitement had never faded so quickly

homie really said SIKE and you couldn’t help but feel like an idiot

“no, toshi, i meant as in do you have feelings for someone...”

“oh... depends.”

vague. but at least it was an answer

“do you like anyone, (y/n)?” he asked and you immediately nodded

“yeah, i do like someone, but honestly, i doubt he likes me back.” you professed and you could’ve swore you saw the muscle in his jaw tense

“and why is that?”

you shrug, taking your eyes off him and back towards the ground. “i think he’s too occupied with volleyball, so i doubt dating is definitely not a priority of his—”

toshi’s fists within his pockets were balling with his knuckles turning completely white from the pressure, “who?”

“u-um, i don’t know if i’m comfortable enough to say...”

it was then toshi would grab your wrist, gently tugging you back into an embrace

your eyes widened into saucers at the sudden gesture, this was definitely not normal for ushijima but then again confessing your feelings for someone shouldn’t be a normal, everyday thing

“i want to know who, (y/n).” he repeated again

“why do you want to know so badly?”

ushijima gulped down the lump forming in his throat as for the first time he felt nervous to talk to you, “because i have a feeling it’s me.”

“hUH?” you exclaimed

like perhaps you were actually taken aback considering you thought he would never come to conclusion that it was him, unless...

“... tendou told me.”

yup there it was

a frustrated sigh left your lips, “of course it was. that loudmouth never keeps his mouth shut i swear—”

“but i like you too.” toshi quickly cut in, completely straight to the point as there was no reason to beating around the bush at this point anyway

“you do?”

he nods, “i’m just glad it’s not semi.”

— a. keiji

homeboy is BLUNT

like really blunt, it would be a surprise if he wasn’t the one to call you out on your bullshit when you told him your liked someone

he would always do so when bokuto says or does something stupid, but of course you were an exception since he had feelings for you as well

in a mere sense of miscommunication (or lack thereof) as akaashi tends to not show much at all

even in the most emotional events where most others can’t help but be happy or sad or excited or angry, it seems he always had that calm visage all over his face

because of that, you couldn’t tell whether or not he even noticed how daft and obvious your feelings were towards him

then again, his usual calm and quiet demeanor did mean that he could read others like an open book with how observant he was

the thing is, he was well aware of your advances and honestly liked seeing your blushing face and how your attention was on him and him only

you regard of having your eyes only on him kinda made him feel prideful that it was him you focused on, but he would never in a million years tell you that from the fear that you would stop

so he would act oblivious towards your feelings for him

however, he didn’t take into account that you could pine for someone for so long before you get bored

well, you weren’t exactly bored of akaashi as you were still head over heels for him, it was more like you had grown tired of your strategy of winning him over

so who else could you go to besides bokuto, your other best friend

“you know, akaashi really likes it when you fawn over him but he doesn’t say anything about it cause he knows you’d get flustered and stop.” the silver haired boy muttered into your ear during lunch, “but you didn’t hear that from me

he then winked at you and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at him as you make your way to akaashi

you greeted him like normal, talk to him like any other best friend would before you nonchalantly mentioned you liked someone

and you could’ve swore you saw his jaw tighten and his eye twitch

he scoffed at the mere thought of you giving all your love and affection towards another guy that wasn’t him

akaashi is never the type of guy that gets jealous easily as most of the time being jealous is being unreasonable, but here he was being unreasonable

it wasn’t like you were his s/o or anything, but it genuinely irked him

“who is it?” he would ask, trying to sound calm as possible.

homie can barely make eye contact with you because he would instantly melt into a puddle for you

“well...” you hesitate to say anything in case he would figure out it was him, but you honestly had nothing to lose if it came to that point where you confessed right here and now. “he’s on the volleyball team and he’s in our year.”

it was then you slapped your hand over your mouth as you realized that akaashi was the only second year on fukurodani’s vb team

“uhh, i mean—” you tried to lie but was immediately cut off by him

this is where akaashi’s bluntness comes into play 

“you know if you said you liked me, this would’ve been easier on the both of us,” he mutters, smoothly wrapping his hand around yours. “cause i like you too, (y/n).”

you struggled to respond as you were too busy internally screaming at that he was literally holding your hand rn “y-you do?”

“of course,” he shrugs as he pulled you to walk with him back to your classroom, “i wouldn’t let you focus on anyone else besides me, anyway.”

— m. osamu

like akaashi, he has a really calm visage and doesn’t show much emotion

but unlike akaashi, he really bother trying to hide the fact that he does know of your feelings for him

if anything he feels smug about it, but literally refuses to say anything about it cause you were to oblivious to see it yourself

he figured you’d find out in the long run as this pining was actually kinda fun for him

so there he would be, acting as normal as possible while you casually flirted with him and acting as if you two were nothing more than just having playful banter as best friends do

lowkey i honestly see the miya twins having some form of commitment issues, so osamu would most likely not progress your relationship any further

he likes to think it’s because he likes lowkey teasing you, but in reality, despite knowing of your feelings well, he fears that a relationship with him (something more than just best friends) he’d think that he will disappoint you in the long run

eventually, like any old game being repeated over and over again, you got tired of it

it had gotten so bad that you even went to atsumu for advice

literally the moment you went up to him and even muttered the words, “i need your help,” was totally uncalled for and even shocked atsumu

nonetheless, he felt honored and stupidly cocky that you were going to him for relationship advice

atsumu super cheeky when it came to this, but since osamu was still his brother he never told you that osamu was aware of your feelings

instead his first idea was to make him jealous

being quite the competitive twins they were, there was always a stigma between them and shared things

not that they had minded sharing normal everyday things as they were used to that growing up, but you were an exception obviously. you weren’t an object and specifically you were osamu’s best friend

when you and the twins grew up together, osamu had made it very clear and evident that you were his and his only and greatly hated whenever atsumu would put his arm over your shoulders and call you his best friend

“honestly, i think you should just tell you like someone else.” atsumu spoke to you, mindlessly munching on chips in his bedroom

you had came over to the miya household and osamu definitely found it sus when you made your way to his brother’s room instead of his where you two would usually hang out

you mentioned some small white lie that you needed to talk about a project with atsumu and that he could go into the kitchen and make some snacks while they were speaking

but at this point, you were in atsumu’s room for way too long for osamu’s liking and he was getting super jealous ngl

“so you want me to lie?” you scoffed over at the blond boy

“not necessarily,” he says. “you saying that ya like someone is completely true as the person you like is him, dummie”

you roll your eyes but he continues, “just don’t specify who it is to the point where he eventually confesses his feelings for you.”

“and how do you know he likes me back?”

“twin intuition, (y/n)”

that’s when you finally left his room and made your way to the kitchen where osamu had a hard look on his face as he aggressively slide a plate of onigiri towards you

“looks delicious, samu” you complimented nonchalantly.

“what were you two doing in there?” he immediately questioned

this caused you to instantly take into account of what atsumu suggested without a second thought, “we were talking about the guy i like”

osamu let out a scoff, forcing himself not to roll his eyes and he asked who it was

“just some random person.” you say as you munched on the onigiri

“well, i don’t want a random person to have someone that belongs to me.” osamu mutters out of the blue, stopping you from chewing

your eyes had widened as your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “what do you mean? it’s not like we’re dating or anything—”

“but what if i want us to.”

UMM SIR ???

your appetite immediately disappeared as you felt your heart swell and your nerves jump. the rhythm of your heartbeat was pulsating so quickly you swore that your he could hear how fast it was going

“but...” osamu suddenly adds in before you could respond, “since i’m your best friend, i should be supportive of those you like—”

you sighed, a gentle honey-like chuckle left your lips. “idiot,” you breathed out affectionately, “i was talking about you, you’re the guy i like.”

it was then he made his way towards you and immediately pulled you into an embrace

“is that what you really talked about with atsumu for thirty minutes?”

you nod as your voice muffled into his broad chest

“cant believe you brought him into this,” he chuckles as you peck a soft kiss on the corner of his lip

— k. tobio

honestly this boy is the most oblivious out of everyone else

he genuinely thinks you’re in love when someone else when you literally make it pretty obvious

granted, kags just thinks it’s just you being yourself as he believes that you only act like that cause you’re his best friend 

he thinks your cute flirts and subtle jokes that make him blush redder than a tomato was just your casual friendly banter when in reality you were actually trying to make some money moves lmao

and you noticed this

the thing is, you always liked teasing kags while shagging his hair as he tries to hide the blush on his face, so you figured you could did best

it was the day of the interhigh tournaments and he invited you to watch their first game against dateko

he always liked your presence at games as hearing your loud and thunderous shouts and chants always motivated him and fueled his fire

however, thirty minutes before the match had started, you and tobio were talking near the water fountains, wishing him good luck with some playful jokes thrown around here and there before you completely dropped the bomb on him

it went kinda like this:

the laughter from the last joke you cracked finally died down as tobio casually took a sip from the water fountain, filling a brief moment of comfortable silence between you two

that’s when you said it, “so there’s this guy i really like.”

and that completely caused the setter to choke on his water as he immediately straightened up and looked at you with saucers for eyes

“y-you do?” he stammered over his words as he whipped the drips of water from his face

nodding, you quickly threw him a smile. it was a smile he always liked seeing on your face, the one he couldn’t help but completely melt into an enigma which was you

tobio couldn’t help but feel his muscles tense and his heart suddenly stop beating

the idea that he was no longer the only guy in your life was terrifying

sure you were friends with the rest of the karasuno team and yet he afraid of that fact as he knew that he was the only one who could be this close to you

but the idea that another guy, someone possibly better than him being closer to you and than tobio could ever literally scared him

not because he had undeniable feelings for you since middle school, but the fact that his best friend might put more of their attention to their boyfriend rather than him

“anyway,” you cut in after you noticed that kags wasn’t responding. “i was planning to confess to him soon...” tobio swore he felt his heart plummet, “i just hope he likes me back.”

i hope he doesn’t, tobio thought completely unaware that you were talking about him

 it was then hinata turned the corner and spotted you and tobio, “kageyama! hurry, we need to get on court!”

tobio attempted to shake the feeling of the tightening in his chest as he quickly said goodbye to you and ran towards the courts with hinata

you sigh to yourself before making your way back to the bleachers

once the game had started, you suddenly noticed a change in tobio’s demeanor

from the mere look on his face and to the way his muscles tensed every time he had set was different—almost determined to prove a point

and that was exactly what he was doing

the second the game started a whole knew visage melted upon his face, something mixed with the passion of the game and the determination of win was the chrysalis of the point was trying to make

that he was the only one worthy for you and he would prove it by perhaps playing the hardest and the strongest in the game to win for not only karasuno and his team, but for you as well

the entire game, from each of his receives, blocks, and sets that they were for you

you would always be so happy for him whenever he would win as you would through your arms around him and hug him until there’s no tomorrow

he wished to feel it once more the moment karasuno gained that final point to win

you swore your voice was going to get completely destroyed from the amounts of boisterous shouts leaving your mouth as karasuno had won against dateko

a smile appeared on your face as you watched your favorite boy throw his fist in the air and get absolutely trampled by the rest of his teammates

after the opposing teams shook hands, that’s when you raced down the stairs of the bleachers and dashed towards tobio as fast as you could

he had barely turned over his shoulder to see you coming at him at full speed

you immediately jumped on him and engulfed him into a hug, your legs wrapped around the setter as you exclaimed, “i’m so proud your tobio! i swear sometimes i wonder why i haven’t confessed to you sooner.”

that’s when he would accidentally drop you from the shock as would literally shout, “HUH??”

fortunately, you caught yourself before falling on your ass as you giggled lightly, “i was talking about you earlier, idiot.”

tobio literally felt a huge wave of relief, pulling you into a hug again. “oh thank god.”

the setter imagined that he was on the top of the world then, from winning karasuno’s first official game as a team to him finally winning over your heart

he had never felt better.

[rayshippouuchiha]

Prompt of sorts i guess?

Read the story ‘the family you choose by TunaFishChris’ good story set in ATLA but when I finished reading it my brain threw more plot bunnies at me. Help.

Same soulmates verse but its ozai not azulon who burns zukos off, azulon does have one but its on his head covered by hair n it was for his wife so when she dies azulon goes a little mad n as this was during ozais formulation years n while iroh is away its no surprise that ozai ends up like he does. Half natural inclination n half nurture or lack there of. Sozin was soulmates with roku, loosing him n being partly responsible got rid of any sanity he still had thus war n genocide with gusto. Ozai is the only born royal with no marks n sees it as a strength, zuko gets his down his spine for his soul family always having his back n such. Ozai nearly cripples zuko getting rid of them. Lala (is easier n faster to write) gets her marks when she is with zuko, zuko is always with her, mum told him that he was a big brother n that big brothers looked after their little siblings, zuko loves his little sister, he takes her everywhere. So when her mark appear he very quickly covers them, takes them to a discreet doc in town to get cover cream for her n starts teaching her to NEVER talk about them to anyone but him, not mother not father, no one. It works the cream n the where they appear on the body mean she is not found out by ozai. This changes alot. Once azulon gets his mind back after his wifes death he is tired of war but realises that no one will believe him wanting to end the war, he looks at his sons, iroh has too much blood on his hands n likes fighting too much to be the one to take over from him. Ozai is too cruel, twisted n power hungry for it to be him. Lu ten is promising but after talking with him (under the pretences of teaching him royal politics, laws n other things that the presumed heir would need to know) azulon discovers that lu ten does not want to rule and to force him to do so would only make him resent the throne. Lu ten suggests zuko instead, zuko loves the nation n the ppl, zuko is a naturally caring n protective person, zuko already sneaks out n mingles with citizens who can’t seem to help loving him, he just draws everyone in. Lu ten suggests having zuko (and lala if zuzu is there so is she) attend these lessons with azulon n Lu ten the excuse given to allow it is that zuko is to be trained to be Lu tens advisor when he is firelord. Its the other way round really but no one else needs to know that yet, zuko can be the lord, Lu ten n lala the advisors. Lu ten is the one keeps the farce going n keeps the target for assassination on his back rather than his little cousins. Lu ten is reported dead at ba sing se but is alive just so injured n with amnesia, possibly also damage to his chi so he can’t bend. Is picked up by the boulder who was an army soldier but leaves after that battle as he can’t stand to see that much blood anymore. Lu ten has soul marks but they hang on his skin like a very log hanging belt no one is going to notice them unless he gets naked. Growing up zuko n lala discover they r soul mates, lala is far more stable as she knows her brother will always love her no matter what she does n without conditions like father. She still is terrifying but she is loyal to zuko n only plays at being loyal to ozai. When Lu ten is reported dead n ozai makes a play for the throne azulon sees his chance n when says ozai must lose a son, he doesn’t want zuko dead, he plans to remove zuko from ozai family line register n either take him in as his own son or to have iroh take zuko in. Either way zuko was never going to die. Lala not knowing this is scared her only person will be taken from her goes to mother as even though mother doesn’t love her she loves zuko n will be willing to protect him, that done she goes n spends the night with zuko in case father sends assassins. Ursa makes the poison n gives it to ozai n then runs, it isn’t fatal poison she is hoping that ozai will mess up, azulon to survive but proof that ozai tried to kill him will see ozai either in prison till he dies or being executed for treason. Either way zuko is safe from his father n azulon can’t kill zuko as he will be the only remaining male heir, ozai dead, iroh too old to have more children n azula being too young n too female for most of the war counsellors to take seriously. Ozai adds something of his own to the poison, not completely trusting ursa (I wonder y) the poison ends up stimulating death long enough for azulon to be declared dead, ozai crowned n shit started. Azulons body is secreted away by a small group of loyal followers n his health slowly, very slowly returns, he is an OLD man even if the poison doesn’t kill him it does still kick his ass a bit. Ozai ups his campaign to get rid of zuko, lala quickly becomes VERY good at acting, manipulation n fighting to counter this n keep her dum dum alive, zuko becomes paranoid as hell but reaches new heights in stealth, weaponry n first aid. Lala is counting down the days till she has a valid excuse to kill ozai. Azulon is pissed as hell that he can’t do anything from where he is apart from try to help zuko as much as he can by sending ppl he trusts to teach him n look after him. Iroh comes back n really throws a spanner in the works, dismissing his fathers ppl from around zuko, in the (how many??) months that he is back before zuko is shipped out has the highest number of nearly successful assassination attempts on zuko since ursa left. Ozai is not impressed (that they failed), lala is adding uncles name to her shit list, azulon is just mystified as to how his son who is a supposedly great tactician can be so damn stupid.

Then the agni kai happens n azulon is too pissed off at ozai to care about iroh anymore. Azula is leaving with zuko “as otherwise his only example of fire bending will be uncle father n really even dum dum is better than that, besides then if zuko dishonours the family I can kill him straight away.” She has spent too long keeping him alive now for him to ruin all her efforts now. Zuko still has the same soul mates but also has the marks for Lu ten, azula n yue. Azula has zuko, toph n yue. Lu ten has zuko, azula n boulder at the least. Toph has azula added to her group. 6 months after zuko is banished azulon manages to find their location n reach them before they leave, takes over teaching them again n rips iroh several new ones while the crew watches in awe n horror. Azulon finds out about zukos marks n what ozai did n nearly sinks the ship in his rage, lala is glad to find someone else to help her keep zuko alive even if she doesn’t fully trust him, the only one who gets that treasure is zuko. With azulon backing his thoughts about stopping the war n to start helping the ppl of his nation zuko is different by the time aang gets freed, he n lala (im still coming with u dum dum) start working with the gaang earlier n things go smoother? The fire royals end up going to the northern city with them where they meet yue, she n azula bond, azula teaches her to be terrifying, azulon just watches n makes cutting remarks on how stupid the norths misogyny is n just how under prepared they r for anything really, the small fleet of their southern sisters tribe could lay seige, win n not loose more than maybe 5 ppl n they r all non benders. Water ppl being pissed that they can’t kill azulon due to him not being fire lord anymore n is just a doting grandfather really look at how harmless n unarmed I am, they have no claimable vendetta to excuse their killing him as lawful by tribe standards, as the tribe isolated itself n has had no real damage from azulon, also he has already been declared dead which is throwing them a little. Hahn being stupid enough to try n take azulon on, azulons bitch face is epic n lala vows to replicate it one day. Political marriage betrothal between yue n zuko? This azulon is a mix of grumpy old man, sarcastic little shit n im-too-fabulous-for-this attitude. When they find toph is also when they find boulder n Lu ten, zuko n azula bond with him n that breaks the amnesia n katara might be able to help heal his chi?

[shhh-no-ones-home]

how to save a life bucky barnes x reader

+++++++++

Good old whump 😌 this is so fucking long (wc: 2113)

also i know some people are weird about dogs so just know reader has a very large typically seen as aggressive kind of dog (but hes not, just a little slobbery and awkward lol)

Song: say something by danny worsnop and matty mullins 

tag list: @cynic-spirit

+++++++++

"I can't take your shit anymore. If you won't do anything about it then I will! I quit!"

I yelled, untying my apron and tossing it at my manager. One of the cooks had been harassing me for the last couple weeks and he refused to say or do anything. But I had reached my breaking point.

"Come on y/n, we need you! You can't leave me short staffed like that."

He whined and I shook my head, making my way to the back door.

"No, fuck you Rodney, you can find someone else to deal with it."

I said annoyed, clocking out, grabbing my stuff and storming out the back. I gave him the finger as the door slammed behind me, sighing angrily at myself for not finding a new job sooner.

"Fuck!"

I yelled, kicking the brick wall before leaning into it, shoving my head in my hands. Then I heard a harsh cough. My attention snapped towards the man limping through the alley way, seemingly clutching at his side.

"Hey, are you okay?"

I asked, reaching into my bag and gripping my pepper spray tightly.

"Sir?"

I asked again, moving closer to him in the darkness. When he looked up at me I realized who it was. I had seen pictures of him before. What was his name? James? Yeah captain Americas bear friend. From the museum.

"Help."

He managed before falling face first into the dirt. I gasped as I watched his body go limp. In that moment I wasn't quite sure what to do. I couldn't call someone cause I didn't know who to call, and God it was gonna take everything in me to get him back to my apartment. But I couldn't just leave him here. Shit. I sighed before kneeling down and rolling him over. His face was bruised and bloodied, the same as the knuckles on his hand. He must have really gotten into it with someone. I bit my lip before sitting him up with a groan.

"Okay james, work with me here."

I sighed out, going around him and picking him up. He made a soft noise and I looked at him, his eyelids bobbing open for a second.

"Two blocks, that's all it is."

I told myself more than anything, slinging his arm over my shoulder and walking with him dragging his feet. The whole walk was labored breathing and groaning. He was heavier than he looked but then again he was pretty much solid muscle. And though he wasn't much help I could tell he was trying. That endurance was paying off a little bit. But as soon as we were to my apartment he was out, practically falling through the door after I opened it. I only just caught him, laying him on the floor gently and dragging him to the couch. As I tried to put him on it I could hear my dog whining and tapping his toes in his crate.

"Give me a minute Wolf."

I said half annoyed as I got James flat on his back. When I was content with him laying there I let my massive akita-rottweiler mix out of his crate. He immediately went to James and started sniffing him excitedly until I snapped my fingers at him.

"Hey, leave the nice man alone. Let's go potty."

I said, him barking and running towards the door. I quickly got his leash on and took him down to the streets of new York. We walked a good block before finally heading back to my apartment. After I took Wolfs leash off he was right back in James' face.

"Hey, what did I say? Go lay down."

I instructed, him making a sad sound before pouting his way to his large bed in front of the window. I sighed, looking over James with my hands on my hips. Then I noticed a darkened spot just under his jacket and immediately began to worry.

"Shit. Is that blood?"

I said, stepping closer. I watched his face as I knelt down, pushing the coffee table further away from the couch.

"James I don't know if you can hear me but I'm gonna undo your jacket."

I said in a clear voice, watching to see if he moved but he didn't, prompting me to go on anyway. When the front of it was undone I gasped. He was indeed bleeding. It took me a minute to get it fully off, his shirt following right after. To my surprise his whole torso was covered in scrapes and bruises, along with what seemed to be a gunshot wound. Luckily it was only a graze. That I could treat.

"What the hell were you doing?"

I asked out loud even though I knew he couldn't hear me. I shook my head before going to get the first aid kit from under my bed, wolf following me around my apartment. I guess lucky for him I went to medical school, I mean I flunked out my last semester, but still. That's only three months I'd have to finish before I'm a licensed nurse. I had this. Right?

"God I hope I don't have to sew this man shut."

°°°°°°°°°

The next few hours I just sat at my breakfast bar staring at him in the living room, sipping coffee and trying not to wake Wolf who was now fast asleep at my feet. I was waiting patiently for him to wake up, to make noise, to move even an inch. but it never happened. He was however still breathing, the portable heart monitor I had attached to his finger beeping softly.

When the sun started peering through my curtains though I figured it was best to check on him again. After all, I would need to change his bandages soon so whatever it was that hit him didn't get infected. Wolf for one was very excited again for me to be working on the stranger, running to him and getting in his face again.

"Wolf!"

I scolded, James jolting upright as I pulled the collar back on his large black neck.

"Sorry."

I said through a nervous laugh. He looked around for a moment before looking down and wincing in pain as he touched his abdomen.

"Go lay down."

I said harshly, wolf not quite budging at first. But going when I nudged him with my knee.

"Um, I hope you don't mind that. I did as best I could but it's been a while. I was gonna come change them."

He stared at me, looking to wolf in his bed when he sighed.

"Thank you."

He said softly and I nodded.

"Do you mind laying back down? It's a little easier."

I said and he did, slowly, watching my every move as I knelt beside him. I dug into my kit to get new dressing, peeling the old off and shaking my head. It was still bleeding but there wasn't much I could do about it.

"Do you remember much about last night James?"

I asked and he shook his head no, the dog tags around his neck shifting. I focused intently on what I was doing, hearing wolf sigh again. I rolled my eyes, sending him a playful look.

"You aren't afraid of dogs are you James?"

I asked and he shook his head again.

"Okay wolf, come here."

He stood quickly, panting as he came over and stood beside me, looking like he had a wide smile on his face as he sat down. James looked up at him and smiled back, bringing his right hand to scratch at wolf's head. It was a good distraction as I fixed his wounds for a second time. As I put the stuff away I was forced to remember he was still shirtless.

"Oh uh, I washed your shirt too, it was pretty soaked through."

He nodded, making a pained face as he moved to sit up, letting me help as he did. Wolf took that as an invitation to get on the couch, his large dog body taking up a good portion of it as he laid across James' lap. I looked to the ceiling as he laughed, petting him some more.

"I'm so sorry. If you want him off all you have to do is tell him to get down."

I said standing up, going to the kitchen to wash my hands.

"I don't mind it, he reminds me of an old friend."

He lamented as I came back, wiping my hands on a towel.

"They must've been one hell of a friend."

He nodded slowly.

"Hey uh, you can call me Bucky. if you want."

I reached for his hand and shook it.

"Y/n."

"Thanks for this y/n."

I nodded, crossing my arms over my chest.

"I'm not gonna lie James, uh Bucky, I was a little shook up last night. I had just quit my job when you came stumbling down the alley I almost wasn't sure what to do with you. And I know as a citizen I probably should have called an ambulance but as an ally..."

I paused. he looked a little more into what i had to say now.

"I've, well, I've been around the block with a string of heroes before and none of them could ever actually get help from paramedics. So I did what I could."

He nodded.

"I really appreciate it y/n, I must've been desperate after all, to go to a complete stranger."

He laughed.

"I'm just glad you found me and not someone else. Or who knows what could have happened."

"those were my thoughts exactly."

there was a long pause, me standing awkwardly and both of us staring at the floor. then Wolf barked, taking both of our attention as i jumped at the sudden sound.

"guess he agrees."

i said and he laughed again.

"ya know i really appreciate this. is there a way i could repay you? some how?"

he asked and i shook my head.

"no, i couldn't let you do that. really."

i said quickly, holding my hand out, watching as he struggled to stand.

"i want to."

he insisted, stumbling forward and i caught him. he panted out a pained noise.

"knowing you're safe is enough. come over here, lets get you something to eat."

i said, walking him slowly to the bar i was just sat at and feeling his back muscles strain against my palm as i held him upright.

"careful, you keep taking care of me i might never leave."

he said through a wince as i placed him in the chair.

"promise?"

i laughed and he sent me a soft look before smiling. i could feel the blush run across my face as i moved to the fridge, making a face like i was an idiot for saying that.

"uh i went to school to be a nurse after taking care of my last boyfriend. he was terminally ill but didnt want to stay at a care facility. i guess ive kind of been missing it since he passed last year."

"im sorry."

he said quietly as i pulled things out of the fridge for breakfast.

"its alright. ive been getting by. plus i have wolfie over there to keep me busy."

i said with a smile, the large dog wagging his tail as he sat at the edge of the kitchen.

"im sure he appreciated all you did for him."

bucky said and i nodded once, moving to the stove.

"uh, how do you like your eggs?"

he turned in the chair to look at me.

"what's your specialty?"

i laughed.

"anything but poached."

he smiled widely at me.

"over easy please."

"great. that i can do."

there was another long silence as i began frying the eggs. then he cleared his throat.

"would it be a little Stockholm syndrome-y to ask you out after saving my life?"

i let out a short, loud, laugh before looking at him.

"oh you're serious?"

i asked and he scratched the back of his neck nervously.

"unless youre not looking but the least i could do is take you to dinner."

i nodded slowly, plating the food and setting the plates on the counter.

"im not but i wouldnt say no to dinner. and who knows, maybe id be open to seeing you after. maybe with a shirt and not bleeding on my couch."

he picked up the fork and raised it in cheers to me.

"ill take it. and its the least i could do. as a thank you."

"its a date then."

[not-all-dead]

#56 and #49 izumi to lin around the the time she got her scars;’(

prompt #56 - “Tell me what’s wrong.”

+

prompt #49 - “Who hurt you?”

this,,, this ended up very angsty,,, very very hurt/comfort,,, oeef ok ok im sorry i kept linzin canon but its very much linzumi and hhh its just its a thing yup ok yup

It had been at least two weeks since the last time she’d seen anyone. At first she’d let Katara in for healing sessions, but once the scars on her face were moderately healed, she’d cut her off as well. Not even Tenzin had gotten through to her, and they’d been together for several years now. Everyone had given up trying to talk her out of the mood until now, when she heard a hesitant knock on the door.

“Lin?” Izumi called softly from outside.

Lin didn’t respond. She’d successfully scared off everyone else by remaining silent, and she intended to do the same with Izumi. Unfortunately for her, Izumi ignored her silence and opened the door anyway.

“Lin, come on,” Izumi poked her head into the room and looked softly at Lin.

Lin sighed and looked away but didn’t protest when Izumi joined her on the bed.

“I brought your favourite dark chocolate,” Izumi turned to face Lin and placed a hand on her shin.

Lin said nothing but a tiny smile spread across her face. Izumi’s heart hurt seeing how her lips refused to lift on the side of her face that was now scarred. She shook her head ever so slightly and looked up to meet Izumi’s eyes.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Lin tore her eyes away at Izumi’s words, shaking her head again.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” She mumbled.

“Please?” Izumi rubbed her hand back and forth on Lin’s shin in an attempt to comfort her.

“Who hurt you?”

Lin’s head whipped up at the question and she cringed at the pain that shot through her cheek at the sudden movement. She was slightly shocked at how direct Izumi was, but even more shocked at the fact that she didn’t already know what had happened. She’d have expected Katara to tell everyone who came what little Lin had told her, but apparently she hadn’t.

“It’s not like it matters anyway,” Lin said quietly, looking down again.

“Of course it matters! You need to talk about these things, and I’m more than happy to listen,” Izumi lifted her legs onto the bed so she was sitting cross legged facing Lin.

“It’s not-,” Lin tried to protest again, but cut herself off with a sigh.

“Fine, but it's really not that big a deal. I was just on duty, and I got radioed about an armed robbery, so I went after the car. I got the car no problem, and these guys got out, but Su was with them. My stupid little sister was hanging around with criminals, helping them in an armed robbery! And of course I was the officer that went after them. Of course.

“She tried to walk away. The others had already run off, so I’d already messed up, but she stood there, as dumbfounded as I was, just staring at me. I yelled at her. I was so angry. I couldn’t believe she’d have actually done something like that, and she didn’t believe I’d actually punish her for it. But I yelled at her, and she turned away anyway. She turned away and I grabbed her by the wrist with my cables and she-

“She cut them. My cables. They flew back at me. Ripped right through the skin of my face. It hurt, so much. I couldn’t tell what was happening after that point. I think my mom brought me here, so Katara could heal me, at least a little. I don’t remember. I don’t really care. But what made me really angry was when Mom brought me into her office a couple days after it all happened.

“She tore up the report. Destroyed it. Practically said Su was in the right, I was wrong. Said I shouldn’t have arrested her. Said Su would go live with our grandparents, rewarded her for running around with criminals. It’s like she doesn’t even care about her job, about the city! Her reputation was more important than doing her job. She couldn’t have a daughter in jail, of course she couldn’t. But she didn’t punish her in any way, and I don’t- I can’t-,”

Lin felt a single tear escape her eye and swiped her hand to get rid of it immediately. She hated how angry, how emotional she got, but she didn’t know how to stay calm talking about it all.

“I’ve been in here ever since. Katara insisted on healing me every day for a while, but two weeks ago I didn’t let her in. I stopped letting anyone in. They leave food outside, not that I eat much anyway. I just… I don’t know. I’m angry. I’m… hurt. It seemed easier to not talk to anyone,” Lin finished, gazing at her hands in her lap.

Izumi reached out and grabbed her hands, holding them tightly.

“You have every right to be angry, and I understand how much easier it seems to not talk about things. But even though it’s easier not to, it's good to get it all out. I’m glad you told me all this,” She lifted one hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Lin’s ear.

Lin met her eyes and smiled lopsidedly again, a slight blush painting her cheeks. Izumi’s hand lingered, moving to cup Lin’s uninjured cheek gently and causing Lin’s blush to deepen. Her smile faded slightly and her eyes widened, still staring intensely into Izumi’s.

They stayed like that for a moment before Izumi leaned towards Lin. She hesitated just barely before bringing her lips to Lin’s, a sigh escaping when Lin returned the kiss with unexpected tenderness.

Lin was the first to pull away. She felt her eyes watering again and couldn’t bring herself to look at Izumi until one of her slender hands gently lifted her chin. She ground her teeth together and closed her eyes, causing the wetness to track down her face.

“I- I can’t,” She said through her teeth, pulling back from Izumi completely and looking away.

“Tenzin,” She whispered, face twisting and tears falling faster.

Izumi looked down at the chocolate in her lap.

“I understand. I… I’m sorry,” She said quietly.

They sat in silence for a minute more before Izumi moved to leave. She looked sadly at the bars of chocolate before placing them at Lin’s feet, turning and walking slowly towards the door. She paused before leaving, sparing one last look back at Lin. She was barely holding back sobs, but Izumi knew better than to go back to her now.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Lin broke down completely. She felt so guilty, like she’d betrayed Tenzin. But that kiss… She’d never felt like that before.

A massive sob shook her body and she shook her head, curling her knees up to her chest and crying into them. The chocolate remained untouched at her feet until well into the next day, when it was tucked into a drawer to avoid the new memories associated with it. For the time being, Lin decided to go back to not talking about her thoughts and emotions. It hurt too much to imagine how Tenzin would feel if he knew, and so she blocked it from even her own memory. Her confusing feelings for Izumi were locked away in that drawer along with the chocolate until many, many years later.

list of prompts

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for being best friends with Klaus Hargreeves

Klaus Hargreeves x reader

warnings: drugs/alcohol, blood, smoking, guns, death mention

a/n:

prompt: anonymous: “Hi! Could you write a Klaus Hargreeves x best friend reader headcanon, just the random shenanigans they get into together, the fun they have together. No hidden romance or anything, just complete and utter platonic LOVE. If you have ideas for some angsty point in the headcanon feel free to put them in, I just want to be best friends with Klaus so bad and this is my way to fulfill it XD thank you so much!!”

meeting each other pretty much the day he left the umbrella academy

he was cheering in the street, which you found absolutely amusing

“hey, what’s got you so happy?”

“i’m so glad you asked! today’s my eighteenth birthday, which means im free at last!”

“wow, well, happy birthday”

“i have the greatest idea, do you want to spend it with me?”

you didn’t have anything else to do, so why the hell not?

klaus was a wild child, anyone could have told you that

he paraded down the streets with you, arms interlocked as he skipped around town

you two were singing whatever tune came to mind

“where are you staying tonight?”

“wherever i please!”

“would you like to crash on my couch?”

“do you have a tv?”

“i do”

he agreed and made you watch movies with him until you both passed out

after that night, you two became best friends

he was a lot to handle, but you could take it

plus, you didn’t mind having some crazy unplanned fun, either

to be honest, klaus did have some rough patches, though

he’d call you from the police station time and time again, asking for you to come pick him up

klaus magically was able to talk them out of any charges, you thought only his sister could do that

oh! i forgot to mention, he opened up to you about his powers and the way he was raised

you had heard about the umbrella academy before, so you believed him

you were just surprised that he was one of ‘em

“yeah, yeah, dad said i’m supposed to ‘commune with the dead,’ but he has no idea how hard that actually is! the mental toll it has on a person!”

he told you about ben, who was actually present at the time, you just couldn’t see him

you and klaus went on to be friends for years, sharing so many memories together

some of them were drunken, you must admit

you weren’t a fan of klaus’s addiction, though, especially as time went on

“klaus, you need to pull it together. i really think you should go to rehab. just try it out?”

“but i don’t want to part with you for that long! i’ll be lost!”

“don’t worry, i’ll still be here when you get out”

patching him up when he got hurt, which was often

“aw, my shirt has blood on it. that’s too bad, i liked this one”

“you know, klaus, the blood gives you some character”

“you know what? you’re right!!”

he would go on the wildest tangents about his family sometimes, five superpowered siblings (+ vanya), a billionaire for a father, a robot for a mother, and monkey.......totally normal childhood

sometimes he’d see his sister, allison, on the tv and watch whatever it was she was in, he thought she was magnificent

he really did miss her sometimes

“you know, they were all the worst siblings you could ask for, but they are my family. i wonder how they’re doing right now...”

“do you want to visit them sometime, i can come with”

“oh, nonono, you don’t want to do that, we may try to kill each other!”

“i believe that”

him finding vanya’s book and reading it with you in tears

“i know, klaus, i know. she didn’t mean to hurt you, i’m sure. she made the wrong decision”

“she just told the world about very private family matters! what else was she trying to do?!”

klaus and you stuck together for a few more years, but the day he found out his dad died was....it was something

he was laughing, crying, popping open the champagne, crying some more, hugging you tightly, and singing happy songs

“y/n...will—will you come to the funeral with me? please?”

“yeah, i can do that”

the house he grew up in was HUGE

he insisted on giving you a tour while he snatched up trinkets to sell

“put it back...”

“but it’s mine!”

passing by his other siblings and awkwardly waving

“who are you?”

“excuse you, this is my very best friend in the whole wide world!”

okay, it was a lot more uncomfortable that you expected it to be

especially when “number one” dumped the ashes at the funeral and then “number two” started shit talking their dad, and klaus started laughing when they started fighting

passing his cigarette back and forth

okay, and then he suddenly had a 13 year old brother fall from the sky

“klaus, are you sure we were smoking a cigarette?”

“i’m never sure of anything anymore, darling”

“that’s reassuring”

the little brother did not give a flying FUCK who you were

smth about the apocalypse

babysitting klaus as he spiraled out of control bc of his family

uh, losing klaus several times

and then he got kidnapped

and then he time traveled to the 60s and fell in love???

he told you all about dave

“he sounds amazing, klaus. do you think you could conjure him?”

“that’s not a bad idea! i just need to stay sober!”

easier said than done

apocalypse apocalypse apocalypse

now you were all in on that

you never thought that your accompaniment to a funeral would lead to several shootings, murders, and traumas.......wow

you really felt out of place

his sistee ended the world. you know, vanya, the one you thought had no powers

so his brother, five, time traveled the lot of you to the 1960s, but you landed alone in texas

“klaus? klaus?! anybody???”

having to cope with the fact that you were going to have to acclimate to living in the past on your own, it could be worse

you could have died in 2019

you went on for another year or two trying to keep your head low

but you ran into a familiar face soon

“allison?”

“y/n?”

although you didn’t know each other very well before this, you were ecstatic to find someone in the same situation as you

soon everyone began finding each other and also the world was gonna end again

reuniting with klaus

sobbing while you hugged him

“y/n, oh, my god, i can’t believe it’s really you!”

“i missed you so much, this has been such a wild ride”

“welcome to the hargreeves family”

ben, who you couldn’t hear: “he wouldn’t shut up about you!”

this new timeline was decidedly not a vibe

“you know, the 60s fashion i can live with, but everything else? complete trash i would like to go home”

everyone had to protect you because you didn’t have powers and they actually kind of cared about you?

klaus would also absolutely lose it if you got hurt

he would tell you all about his cult every moment he got

also he let you hang out at his mansion

but there was no time to hang out, you guys REALLY had to fix the timeline in any way you could

after becoming fugitives, you went to a barn for an epic *final battle* where you died lived bc five changed the timeline

getting back to 2019 only to find that it was......not the same at all

“i think...i think we may have fucked up”

“yeah, i’m going to have to agree with you there”

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @cullens-stuff // @lotsoffandomrecs // @takethebladeawayfromme // @tessacabrera // @teenwaywardasgardian // @spidergirla5 // @sheridans-dynamos // @freya-xo // @johnmurphyisbisexual // @jay-is-groovy // @ravenmoore14 // @purpleskiesstorm //

[yougivemebutterfliessss]

We gonna ignore the fact that ghostie isn’t my main account but 150 :)

-saarah

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @ghostiewriter 🥳🥳🥳 ur old now congratulations. So you though could stump me with this vague prompt “make up your own” IM SORRY OKAY I thought giving something vague for Christmas prompts would make it EASIER. Anywho I have a secret weapon and her name Annie. Big shout out to @yellowlaboratory for turning my traumatic story of puking in a school bathroom during a track meet into a hilarious fic idea; please enjoy this unedited 🙈crack Drabble akdhsjdhsjdh

“You want me to call your priest?”

Track had always been a JJ and Kie thing. In sixth grade she’d decided they need to keep active during the winter and that indoor track would be the perfect way to do it. Not only was it during the months where there was no surfing, but it was a sport she could actually do with her boys. She just needed to convince them to do it. Pope was an immediate no, too much homework and John B was insistent on trying out for the basketball team, his dad used to play or something. Which left JJ, who for whatever reason picked joining track with her over joining basketball with John B. She always figured it was because he thought she needed him more, seeing as John B could make friends with just about anyone. Or maybe she was overthinking it and JJ just thought that track sounded more fun; either way, she’s glad he did.

They had long bus rides together, traveling to the mainland so they could meet up with other schools, spend the whole ride there laughing and joking and talking about nothing in particular. She snuck extra snacks into her lunch box so that she could share with JJ, forcing him to eat “healthy shit” like apples and granola bars. (she was quite pleased with herself for that one) They would normally fall asleep on the way back, wake up half on top of each other and not talk about it afterward. She would aggressively snap, “No” when people asked if they like each other and JJ would just grin widely like it was the funniest joke in the world.

He was annoyingly good too, at pretty much everything. If the coaches were down a person they could just throw JJ into that event with a little bit of practice and chances are he would at least place. He was mainly a sprinter and a jumper though, same as Kie. A lot of her favorite memories came from the three years they ran track together. In eighth grade however, things got more complicated because suddenly Kie also had to deal with her period.

She wasn’t one to let that hold her back, but long track meets after school definitely made things more difficult, but it was manageable. Until of course, it wasn’t, which long story short, led to Kie being doubled over on the gross floor of another school's bathroom feeling like someone was digging a knife through her lower abdomen and hoping she doesn’t start puking again. She wasn’t sure how long it took for JJ to find her, walking with his hands over his eyes, judging by the sound of him running into a stall door.

“Yo Kie, you in here?”

“Down here,” she groaned from her spot on the floor not wanting to shift from her position to face, any movement at all made her feel nauseous.

His eyes widened as he crouched down beside her, “Wow, shit. You okay?”

“Do I really have to answer that question?” She muttered with an eye roll, but even that felt weak.

“Right sorry. So did you like catch a bug or somethin?” He asked, backing away from her like she might be contagious.

The last thing Kiara felt like doing at the time was explaining the nuisances of period cramps to a thirteen year old boy so she just muttered, “girl stuff,” and the movement was enough to have her heaving into the toilet again.

“Holy shit,” JJ muttered softly, sounded shocked for reasons Kiara was in too much pain to care about.

“Are you pregnant?”

Kiara choked on her puke, managed to turn her head enough to face him.

“What?”

JJ ran a hand through his hair anxiously, not even seeming to have heard her, talking mostly to himself as he mumbled, “I’m not ready to be a dad.”

“We haven’t slept together you idiot.”

JJ’s went wide with realization. “You slept with someone else,” he exclaimed with what almost sounded like betrayal in his voice.

Kiara didn’t have time to respond before the aggravation at his absolute idiocy had her hanging over the toilet boil again. JJ shifted down so he was squatted beside her, held her hair back as he rambled on.

“So who's is it? No- no you don’t have to tell me that, I don’t even care who’s sperm it is I’m here for you Kie. He’ll be like my kid anyway. Or she. Duh.”

Kiara squeezed her eyes shut in disbelief, didn’t have the energy to turn her head to him as she hissed out, “JJ.”

He raised his hands in surrender, “Okay, okay, I get it, too much,” then added hopefully “I'll still be uncle JJ though right?”

“It’s no one's sperm you dipshit!” She cried, momentarily forgetting the pain in her abdomen as she turned to him.

JJ just blinked at her for a few seconds before responding with a dramatic gasp, a small spark in his eyes as he whispered, “Virgin Mary?”

Kiara groaned in disbelief, pulled her arms up to the toilet boil and rested her head on them, too exasusted to care about the unsanitariness of the situation.

“Does this mean I’m gonna be Jesus’ uncle?”

“JJ if you don’t shut the fuck up right now the next time I puke it’s gonna be on you.”

He backed up immediately, “okay okay point taken. I mean come on that one was kinda funny though.”

She didn’t look up, but she could easily picture the smirk on his face.

“Can you please do something helpful and go call my dad? I left my phone in my bag.”

JJ perked up at that, jumping to his feet. “Right, I’ll be right back, I’ll let the coaches know you’re puking too. Oh and do you want a water? Gatorade? Maybe Pepsi?”

“Water’s good.”

He was sprinting away before she could say thank you. Kie curled up on the floor, giving about zero shits about how dirty it was, anything to make her stomach hurt a little bit less.

JJ returned a few minutes later with water and her phone in hand. Announced, “Kie I can’t find your dad’s contact,” as he handed her the water.

She groaned inwardly for thinking she was funny when she made her dad’s name in her phone.

“Oh uh call Father Mike.”

JJ looked up at that. “You want me to call your priest?”

“No that’s my dad,” she responded with a sigh.

“Your dad’s a priest?”

She sat up and opened her mouth to respond but the movement sent another wave of nausea over her and she found herself back above the toilet boil.

“Should I start confessing my sins before or after you finish puking?”

Kiara fixes him with a glare as she pulls away. “It’s a joke. He put his dad in his phone as Father Joe so I put him in as Father Mike. It’s like imagine there was a comma, like ‘Father, Mike’.”

JJ furrowed his eyebrows as he considered that beforing saying. “You really should add the comma. It’s very misleading.”

“Can you just call him?” She asked, her voice almost pleading at this point.

JJ’s joking tone shifted at that, “right. Yeah of course.”

After that she felt well enough to let JJ help her back to their teams set up in the track building, where she could lie down on blankets instead of a cold floor. JJ still had races and events to do, but he ran back to check on her after every one and each time she would assure him that she was fine and that she didn't need a babysitter, but secretly appreciated how concerned he was. And in hindsight, the Jesus jokes were kinda funny, at least Pope and John B thought they were.

[fullmetalscullyy]

royai + “you make me feel safe, like im allowed to be anything i want” 👀

meg ur mind,, anyone want some young!royai 👀

thank you for the prompt friend i really appreciate it!! i hope you enjoy

for reference this is set after roy decodes the secrets of flame alchemy on her back

rated: g | words: 1913

“It’s a beautiful sunset,” Riza breathed.

Roy hummed in agreement, his fringe tickling his forehead as the breeze caught it. “It really is.”

It took every ounce of his power not to turn his head to look at her instead, finding her far more captivating in the light than the setting sun.

They were sitting on the porch step of her father’s house, looking out over the fields and beyond. In the evening breeze the growing wheat moved like water, swaying back and forth creating a sea of gold. In the distance they saw the doors of the neighbour’s barn close for the night, sealing the horses inside, safe and secure. The sky was burnt orange, the orb of the sun just kissing the horizon as it fell. As it lowered, so did the temperature by a fraction, but it wasn’t enough to cause any kind of proper discomfort.

A fleeting thought crossed Roy Mustang’s mind, that he could shuffle closer to his companion so they could keep each other warm. If he were at his own house back in Central he would have offered a blanket and draped it over her shoulders.

“I’ll miss sunsets like this back in Central.”

Regret flooded him, his face dropping when he saw Riza’s own smile fall from her face. Her head tipped forward to look down at her knees. On her neck, the top of her tattoo peeked out from her slightly too big, open collared shirt. The sight of it made Roy’s stomach twist. He’d spend weeks deciphering that monster, but time hadn’t made it any easier to look at.

“I’m sure you will,” Riza replied, her voice barely a mumble.

He cursed himself for removing that smile from her face.

“I’ll keep it with me, though,” he hastily added, “like I do with every moment I’ve spent here.”

His face turned crimson as his brain blurted out what he was thinking before his mouth could stop it.

Tentatively, Riza peeked out the side of her eye. Her fringe was half obscuring her vision, and Roy hoped and prayed she didn’t see how bad his embarrassment was. The smile she was fighting to keep off her face told him his wish had not been granted.

“Thank you, Mr. Mustang,” she replied sincerely.

He couldn’t be too annoyed at his inability to think before he spoke because it returned a pleased smile to her face after all.

“You’re welcome, Miss Hawkeye,” he managed to get out. “What will you do with yourself?”

A deep sigh heaved through her body, expanding her chest and back before exhaling quietly. “I don’t know.” Her eyes lifted to look out into the fields. The light accentuated the gold in her hair, but also the colour of her eyes. They looked amber in the fading sun. Beautiful.

“Anything I can do to help?”

“You’ve already done so much.”

“I could always do more. If you’d like me too, of course,” Roy offered. “Just let me know if you need anything.”

The look she was giving him… Her head cocked, her fringe falling to the side while she regarded him. It looked like she was smiling, but her expression was quizzical. Like one was trying to figure out an amusing puzzle.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she dismissed with a mysterious smile.

Roy blinked at her, trying to discern what that smile meant.

They returned to silence. Roy was still stumped by that look she’d given him. Settling back in his chair, he contemplated it further inside his mind, turning over the nuances of her tone and changes in expression.

“Thank you. For everything… Roy.”

His head snapped up at the use of his first name, returning him jarringly to the present. That tiny, appreciative smile was back, making his heart stutter twice in such a short space of time. The way his name had sounded coming from her… It was breathed, like it was a forbidden secret. Under the watchful eye of her father he’d always been Mr. Mustang. That title was sacred to him, because that was what Riza called him, and vice versa with her, for Miss Hawkeye. But… Hearing his first name spoken so openly after all this time…

He wanted to hear it again.

“You’ve done so much for me recently,” Riza continued, oblivious to how hard his heart was pounding inside his ribcage. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“Any time, Riza.”

The name was foreign on his tongue as he tested it out, but he enjoyed every moment. It felt like a step forward in a promising direction. Like the shackles her father had on her were finally lifted, letting her be free and grow into her own person, and not just his caretaker.

A flush covered her cheeks, making Roy wonder if it had anything to do with the use of her first name.

“What?” He wanted to prompt her, to find out if that was the reason for her cheeks prettily turning pink in the last light of the day.

“It’s nothing,” she stammered quietly. Shoulders bunched up to ears, chin tucking into her chest as she tried to hide from him.

“Riza, what is it?”

He had a habit of prodding too much. Riza Hawkeye was not one to be poked at and investigated, especially not by him. Whatever needed to be revealed would come in her own time and she would never be rushed. However, Roy’s eager inquisitive streak had gotten the best of him. He just hoped, in hindsight, he hadn’t made her retreat further from him, effectively ending their conversation completely.

With a breath held tightly inside his lungs, he observed her form as she shied away, hoping she would answer. Hoping he hadn’t pushed her too far into a corner.

“It’s been tough, but you being here through it all has helped a lot,” Riza murmured. Her shoulders relaxed and her head tilted, eyes catching onto movement on the path before them. A worm was making its way across the concrete, its movements slow and patient.

“It has?” Roy was bewildered. He didn’t think he’d helped that much. He’d just taken the secrets from her and imposed.

Riza nodded, her expression changing to assurance, moving away from idle contemplation. “It’s made me happy.”

Her reply, so simple and spoken as if it was the truth of the world, made colour rise up the young man’s cheeks.

“Roy?” Her inquisitive expression was wondering why he’d turned away from her so sharply. It was to hide his blush, but she didn’t need to know that.

Upon hearing her reasons, a warmth spread across his chest. It trickled down through his ribs and settled into his heart, burrowing in deep as something he would keep with him for the rest of his days.

He’d done that for her. She’d kindly opened up her home and her sanctuary to him. It had felt like all Roy had done recently was take and take. The feeling of being able to give something back in return was welcome. Not that Roy Mustang thought the indomitable Riza Hawkeye needed any kind of protection from the likes of him – the image of her rifle resting against the wall by her front door flashed into his mind – but it was… nice. He felt useful to her. And that was something he wanted to be.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, schooling his expression. He could blame the heat of the evening on the flush of his skin if she asked. “I’m glad I could make you h – happy.” He cursed himself for the sudden onset of a stutter.

“You do,” she replied confidently, turning back to look out over the fields. Her confidence dwindled slowly, turning timid as she opened her mouth to speak further. “You… make me feel safe.”

It was so quiet he had to strain and concentrate, but when the words sunk in Roy was afraid his heart had stopped beating. His head turned sharply to look at her, but she was looking back down at that worm, shoulders back up at her ears.

Well. Now it was going to be even harder to return to Central alone.

“I do?”

His question was stupid. His brain couldn’t comprehend anything else, so it left his lips with the same intonation as his feelings towards it. He wished he could form something more coherent for her in what felt like a pivotal moment of their evening. Riza was being open and sharing. It didn’t happen very often, so he should be cherishing this, not staring at her blankly in surprise.

“Yes,” she whispered shyly. “It was… hard. Not having Father here. Knowing he was really gone, and it was just me left.” Her voice had grown stronger, her shoulders peeling down from her ears one final time as she voiced her thoughts and well-hidden feelings. “Your assistance has reminded me that I’m more than just his daughter, the bearer of his secrets.”

Riza’s head turned. There was a fire in her eyes, a confidence, and Roy was trapped by it. Held steady by her determination.

“You make me feel safe,” she repeated slowly, testing out her wording while her cheeks became covered in a dusting of pink, “like I’m allowed to be anything I want. Sharing my burden with you was the best decision I’ve made,” she nodded, confirming it for herself.

“Oh, um.” Roy continued to stutter.

Expectantly, Riza had looked up at him but her head cocked as he sat there staring at her instead.

He didn’t have an answer for that. He didn’t know what to reply. If anything, that sentence made his yearning to stay even stronger. The dedication was on the tip of his tongue. Lips parted but no words left him, just a strangled sound.

“I’m sorry if that was too bold of me, Mr. Mustang,” she apologised, casting her gaze away from him. Retreating from him. The use of his title stung.

No! The voice in his head yelled the reply but it didn’t quite make its way out of his throat. She’d just bared her soul to him and all he could do was stare.

“No, no,” he reassured hastily, hands waving in front of him. Roy shifted on the step, moving closer. It caught her off guard, and Riza flinched in surprise. “No, not too bold at all,” he added. “Thank you. But I feel unworthy of such a praise from you.”

“Just…” Riza sighed as she looked into his eyes, suddenly very close. “Thank you,” she finished, completely sincere.

“Thank you in return, Riza.”

“What for?” Her brow creased in her confusion.

“For opening yourself up to me. With… your father’s work,” he gestured over her shoulder at her back, “and for just now.”

Tentatively, Roy reached out for her hand and placed his atop hers. A quiet gasp left her lips, making him smile.

“Thank you for trusting and believing in me,” he murmured.

“It’s an easy thing to do, I’ve realised.” Her admittance was shy, but her voice held strong in volume. She didn’t retreat away from him.

“I’m glad.” His smile almost split his face in two.

Both of them remained sitting there, looking up at the dark sky as they waited for the stars to come out to play. Their joined hands never parted, both of them shrouded underneath the warmth of a single blanket.

[set-phasers-to-whump]

hiding injury

prompt: hiding injury

whumpee: eddie diaz

fandom: 911

hi here is my fave trope ft. one of my fave characters!!! this kinda got away from me in length lmao but i loved writing it and im not mad ab how it turned out. i hope you enjoy!!!!

Something had felt...off about tonight’s victory. It had been in the way his opponent had looked at him, not the usual disappointment and anger that typically came with losing a fight, but something stronger, more violent. Eddie’d brushed it off. He’d had worse looks thrown at him. 

He’s regretting having brushed it off right about now. If he hadn’t, if he’d just talked to the guy, calmed him down, something, he wouldn’t be here right now, hand pressed to a stab wound in his torso, leaning up against the door of his truck, feeling blood slowly seep through his fingers, warm and wet. 

For a split second, his non-occupied hand reaches for his phone, but he stops himself before he even unlocks it. He can’t call 911. If he calls 911, then the 118 will discover what it is he’s been doing...they’ll realize that he’s dangerous, reckless, stupid, for having gotten himself stabbed, and he doesn’t want them to think that. He can’t lose them, not now. So no 911. He’ll be fine. He used to be a medic. He knows how to treat a stab wound. 

He gets into his truck, left hand still firmly pressed to his torso. He fumbles around with the other until he finds a rag on the floor. Not bothering to think about where it might’ve been, Eddie balls it up and presses it as hard as he can into the wound, gritting his teeth to stop from screaming. 

He drives home as carefully as he can, for the most part keeping a hand pressing the rag to his torso, but occasionally having to let go. His lap and seat are coated in sticky blood by the time he gets home. 

For the first time in his life, he’s grateful that Chris isn’t there. There’s no hiding the blood coating his torso, legs, hands… He doesn’t know how he’d even begin to explain this to his son. 

Eddie gets himself inside and into the bathroom, making a pit stop in the kitchen to grab some alcohol first - this isn’t going to be pleasant.

He stands in front of the mirror, dripping blood onto a towel he’d pulled quickly down from the rack. A first aid kit sits open in front of him. He takes a larger-than-probably-necessary sip from the bottle in his hand, then sets it heavily down onto the counter and gets to work. 

First, he has to clean the wound. He grabs a bottle of saline solution, grits his teeth, and pours it onto his torso, hissing at the stinging feeling. 

He waits for the pain from that to subside before starting on the more painful part of the task - the stitches. He pours some hydrogen peroxide over his supplies to make sure they’re clean - this cannot get infected - and then he takes a deep breath and begins. 

In, out, in, out, in, out...it’s not a terribly long wound, which is good, because every stitch feels like getting stabbed again (which it technically is). He’s crying when he ties the thread off, and his hands are beginning to shake. He’s just glad they waited until he didn’t have a needle poking through his skin.

Eddie carefully sticks a gauze pad over the stitches, then gives himself a once-over in the mirror, hoping he’ll be able to say he looks pretty good for a guy that just stitched himself up. 

But he doesn’t. His face is slightly pale and his eyes are red and there’s blood smeared all over his body like paint on a canvas. He can’t go to sleep like this, although sleep is about the only thing he wants to do at the moment. He’s got to clean himself up.

There’s no way he’s getting in the shower with his freshly-done stitches, so he settles for ruining several washcloths, cleaning his body with water from the sink. He can’t get all of the blood, because he can’t quite bend over without his torso pulling in a way that suggests more stitches will be imminent if he keeps doing it. But most of the blood is removed from his body, anyway, which is good enough for him. He strips out of his bloody shorts and puts them, the washcloths, and the towel from under his feet into the trash. He’ll take it out as soon as he gets redressed, so Chris won’t find them. 

He puts on clean pajama pants, not bothering to run the risk of putting on a shirt, and grabs the trash, taking it outside to the can on the curb, pain thrumming through him with every step. That done, he returns to the bathroom and wipes his blood off of the counter, extremely grateful that none had dripped off of the towel and onto the floor. 

He runs a quick check of the house, making sure there’s no blood on any of the floors (there is, but he scuffs a towel over it with his foot, which is not bloodsoaked enough to warrant the trash, but is instead tossed into the washing machine). He locks the doors, triple-checking to make sure they’re secure, and does the same with the windows. He doesn’t particularly think the guy that stabbed him is going to come after again (and even if he wanted to, it’s not like he knows where Eddie lives), but it never hurts to be cautious. 

When all that is done, Eddie finally lets himself sink very carefully into his bed, placing a couple more towels under him in case his wound should start bleeding in his sleep. He prays it won’t. He doesn’t want to have to stitch his skin up again. 

--

He wakes up in the morning, immediately checking himself for blood, which, fortunately, hasn’t seeped out of the gauze. There's a few spots on the gauze itself, but he needs to change it anyway. 

It looks pretty good, Eddie thinks, eyeing the wound in front of the mirror. Not infected, stitches holding...about as good as he can expect. 

He gets dressed, very painfully, and nearly dislocates his arm trying to get his shirt on without causing any stress on his chest. He makes a halfhearted attempt to make himself look like he didn’t just climb out of bed and head straight to work, but that is what he looks like, he’s sure. 

Buck confirms this for him the second he walks through the station doors. “You look like shit, Eddie,” he says, bumping Eddie’s shoulder with his own. 

Eddie gives him a smile that feels more like a grimace. “Overslept,” he says. Buck nods. “Chris was at that sleepover with...oh, what was her name...Olivia? Bet you expected him to wake you up early for breakfast.”

Eddie nods, surprised that Buck remembers where Chris is. He’d ordinarily smile at the fact, but currently can't bring himself to.

They head up the stairs to the loft, Eddie dragging along behind Buck significantly. Every step pulls on his stitches, and he feels like he can literally feel them starting to pull apart. Which he very well could be feeling, he knows. He just hopes he isn’t. They can’t know about this. 

Of course, for them to not know about this, he has to act completely normal. Which is a task far easier said than done. As soon as he steps foot into the loft, Bobby’s tossing a container of oatmeal at him from the kitchen, with instructions to come over and help him out. Eddie catches the container with a barely concealed wince, and reluctantly goes into the kitchen to help Bobby, leaning up against the counter when he can. 

“You okay?” Bobby asks him, as the team settles down to eat breakfast. 

“Yeah,” Eddie says, though it doesn’t sound very convincing, even to his own ears. 

Bobby nods, not pushing the issue. Eddie sees Buck look like he’s about to say something, but Bobby interrupts him by telling everyone what they’ve got on their plates today - cleaning the station. There are general groans from around the table, but Eddie’s never been more excited at the thought of mopping. He’s pretty sure he can do that, but rescuing someone from a burning building might push him a bit too far. 

And if that’s the case, he shouldn’t be here. Not that he should be here anyway, he knows. Ideally, he should be at the hospital. But he can’t be there, and if he’d called in sick today they would have been concerned anyway, and worse, someone might have come over to check on him. So he’s here, gratefully grabbing a mop from the supply closet. 

He turns around, mop in hand, and comes face to face with Buck. 

“Look, I know we’re still...not on the most solid ground,” Buck starts, “but I am sorry, Eddie. I told you why I did what I did, and I understand if it’ll take you some time to process that, but…”

“It’s fine, Buck,” he says, as kindly as he can muster up the energy to do. “Really.” He means it, though he’s pretty sure his words lack the sincerity he feels.

Buck looks at him doubtingly, but after a second he seems to accept that answer, and then, before Eddie can stop him or back away or do anything, Buck’s hugging him tightly around the middle. 

It would be just about the nicest feeling in the world if it didn’t make him want to scream in pain. As it is, he manages to turn the scream into a low groan, muffled into the fabric of Buck’s shirt.

Buck, of course, hears it anyway. He pulls back, arms on Eddie’s shoulders, scrutinizing him. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Eddie says, trying to sound dismissive. Before Buck can say anything else, he adds, “we really should get to mopping.”

Buck can’t argue with that, so they begin their chore, though Eddie doubts that Buck is going to drop this. 

Fifteen minutes of painful labor later, Eddie’s taking a break (hiding from the torture of the mop) in the locker room. Even the simple task had been absolute hell on his stab wound, and he can feel wetness beginning to seep through the gauze. He’s extremely grateful that his shirt is dark enough to hide the stain that is surely growing on it. 

Knuckles rap at the glass. Eddie starts and stands up, turning around and coming, again, face-to-face with Buck. Can we talk? he mouths, and Eddie can’t exactly say no, so he nods. 

Buck comes into the locker room looking somewhere between hurt and angry. “What’s up with you?” he asks. 

Eddie turns his face away from Buck’s eyes. “Nothing,” he says, and Buck laughs humorlessly. 

“Right, ‘cause that sounds so believable. Eds, you’ve been acting weird all day, you still look like shit even after Bobby’s breakfast, and I’ve caught you wincing at least five times in the past twenty minutes. What’s up?”

Eddie shakes his head. He can’t do this...he can’t let them know. Nobody can know about this side of him, this anger and this pain and this goddamn stab wound…

Which all of a sudden hurts a lot more. Eddie snaps open eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed and sees Buck’s hand pressing into his torso, not yet touching the wound, but extremely close. 

“Stop,” he whispers, but Buck presses on. 

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong with you,” Buck insists, moving his hand and pressing down directly on top of Eddie’s injury.

He makes a noise like a strangled scream, and Buck pulls his hand away suddenly. “What the hell, Eddie?” he asks, and then he looks at his own hands, which are covered in Eddie’s blood. 

“What...the hell?”

Eddie shakes his head. Buck pushes him down onto a bench, and Eddie goes willingly. Buck pulls his shirt off over his head, jostling his arms, and Eddie doesn’t make a sound. His eyes have gone unfocused and his vision has gone blurry from tears he’s unwilling to let fall, but he can still make out the shape of Buck in front of him, knows what his face looks like without having to see it. Disappointed. Angry. Disgusted. He knows this must be how Buck feels. It’s how he feels.

A hand touches his face, cool and soft, and Buck’s voice sounds much the same when he says Eddie’s name. 

Buck moves his hand back to Eddie’s torso, this time gently touching the skin around the wound, pulling back the gauze carefully. Eddie can’t stop himself from whimpering, which he immediately hates himself for, but Buck doesn’t seem to feel the same way when he apologizes and puts a soothing hand in Eddie’s hair. 

“Eddie. Eddie, can you look at me? Please?”

Eddie focuses his eyes as best as he can and looks at Buck, who is crouched on the floor in front of him. “Eddie, what happened?”

He can’t hide it now...Buck knows, and they’re all going to know, know how weak and angry and in pain he is, and then they are going to hate him for it. 

“Hey, hey, Eddie. It’s okay. I’m not going to be mad at you or anything. I promise. Just please tell me what happened so I know how to help you.”

Buck’s hand is back on his face, brushing away tears that he hadn’t ever wanted Buck to see. He takes in a ragged breath. 

“Got stabbed.”

“Okay,” Buck says. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he says in return. It’s the only thing he can think of to say, and it’s not enough, it’s never enough, he’s never enough…

“You don’t need to be sorry, Eds. I’ve got you. We’ve got you.”

Buck shouts for Hen and Chim, and Eddie hears him explaining to them what’s happened. He tries not to pay attention, tries to ignore their voices. He can’t hear them. Can’t hear what they must think of him.

“Eddie?” 

It’s Chim. He nods in response. 

“We’re gonna take you to the hospital, alright?”

He nods again. He can’t fight them, he knows. He desperately hopes they won’t be too mad at him. “I’m sorry,” he says again. 

“For what?”

It’s Hen this time, and he feels her hand on the back of his neck. He doesn’t reply, and this seems to be fine, because nobody asks him anything else, except for Buck, who asks if he’s ready and doesn’t give him time to answer before they’re all helping him up and onto a gurney, then pushing him into an ambulance. 

Hen’s driving, and Buck and Chim are sitting in the back with him. Chim’s busy being a paramedic, though since Eddie’s already cleaned and stitched the wound there’s not a lot for him to do. He slips a pulse monitor onto Eddie’s finger and asks him how he’s feeling. 

“Fine,” Eddie says, which is the wrong answer, obviously. Chim sighs and asks if he’s sure that he really feels fine, you know, with a stab wound to his torso and all. 

“Fine. It hurts,” Eddie mutters, and Chim says a smug thank you that almost makes Eddie smile. 

Buck grabs his hand from where he’s sitting next to Eddie, holding on tighter than can possibly be necessary, like he’s worried Eddie’s going to just fall away. Eddie wishes he had that kind of power. 

“Will you tell us what happened?” Buck asks. Eddie shakes his head slightly. He can’t talk about it. Or, he can, but he doesn’t want to. Except some part of him does. He doesn’t say anything as he tries to figure that one out. 

“Eddie, listen. I know you’re hurting right now. Because of Shannon, because of Chris, because of me...I know I haven’t been the best friend lately, but I have never stopped caring about you. Whatever happened, you can tell me. I promise I won’t judge you or be mad at you.”

“Same,” Chim adds, putting a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. 

They won’t be mad, Eddie tries to tell himself. They won’t be mad. They won’t be mad. 

“I was street fighting and it went bad,” he says, the words coming out of him in a rush. 

“Okay,” Chim says, with professionalism. Buck, on the other hand, says nothing. He’s looking at Eddie with this unreadable expression on his face and he’s not saying anything, and Eddie thinks that this is it. This is something that can’t be looked past. This is the moment that Buck leaves him, for good. 

“Okay,” Buck agrees, and his grip on Eddie’s hand tightens even more. “Thank you for telling us.”

They arrive at the hospital not ten seconds later, and then Buck, Chim, and Hen are walking beside him on the path to the doors, and when they reach the doors, rather than surrendering him to the doctors and turning around, they follow him in.

A few minutes later the four of them are crammed into a room that’s a little too small for all of them. Eddie’s lying on a table and the others are standing around him, giving the nurse a wide berth but anxiously looking over her shoulders. She’d told them there was no need for surgery and that he hadn’t lost enough blood to be in serious danger. She’d give him an anaesthetic, clean and stitch the wound, and then he’d be kept for observation for a couple hours. She had also pulled the other three away and talked to them about something Eddie hadn’t been able to hear. Him, most likely. 

Buck, Chim, and Hen then clear out for the nurse, who smiles kindly at Eddie and asks whether he’s alright with receiving the local anaesthetic. He’d like to say no, that he’s fine, he’ll tough it out, but he is unfortunately now familiar with the feeling of stitches pulling through his skin, and he accepts the anaesthetic readily.

A few minutes later, he’s been stitched up far better than his at-home job, and he’s lying in a hospital bed trying to argue with the nurse about going home. 

“It really is best if you stay, just until this evening, Mr. Diaz,” she’s saying, and he knows full well she’s right, but he hates it anyway. But Buck and Chim and Hen are standing behind her, eyeing him with looks that leave little point in arguing further. 

He resigns himself to staying in the hospital for a little while. Buck, Chim, and Hen head back to the station and promise to come back as soon as they can. Eddie calls his abuela and asks whether she can pick up Chris from his sleepover. He tells her he’s been hurt on the job, nothing major, and he’ll be home that night. She says she’ll bring Chris by in an hour, and tells him he’d better not think he’s getting away with his shoddy explanation. 

He tries to keep himself occupied as he waits for people to arrive, but time in the hospital passes extraordinarily slowly, and he finds himself bored out of his mind and kind of sleepy. He closes his eyes experimentally and finds it easy to drift off. 

--

He wakes up to voices. Chris and Buck, he realizes, talking very excitedly about a new school project involving plants. Eddie smiles and opens his eyes. 

“Dad!” Chris shouts excitedly, standing up so quickly he about topples over in his haste to give Eddie a hug. Buck catches him before he can fall and reminds him to be gentle, and then Chris is hugging him around the neck and saying he’s so glad he’s okay, and did he hear them talking about the new project? And does he think Buck can come over and help him work on it after school on Monday?

Eddie answers Chris’ questions as well as he can, and Chris seems satisfied with the answers, sinking back into his chair and grinning. Buck gives his hair a tousle and looks at Eddie. “You okay?”

Eddie nods. Now that they’re here, truly, the answer is yes. “I’m sorry,” he says, and he looks Buck straight on, hoping he’ll feel Eddie’s sincerity. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell anyone. I thought it would be fine. I just...I didn’t want you to know.”

“Know what?”

Eddie looks at Chris, who is looking between the two of them somewhat confusedly. He shakes his head. Chris doesn’t need to hear this. 

At just that moment, there’s a knock on the door, and Eddie looks up to see Athena, with Harry and May in tow. “Bobby’ll be here as soon as he can,” she says to him. “And then you and I are going to talk.”

He nods. He’d figured this was coming. He’s just glad she hadn’t said they were going to talk right now. 

“Hey Chris?” Buck asks, and Chris turns to him, grinning. 

“Dad’s really okay?” Chris asks, before Buck can finish his sentence. 

Buck nods. “He’s going to be just fine, I promise,” he says, holding up his hand like he’s swearing it. Chris giggles. 

“Okay, Buck. Then...can I go play with Harry?”

Chris looks imploringly at Buck, then at Eddie, and Eddie catches Harry giving the same look to Athena. All three adults nod, and the two boys head out into the hallway, Athena and May following behind them. May closes the door behind her and smiles at the two of them, almost encouragingly? Which Eddie thinks is a bit odd. He’s broken away from the question by Buck slipping right back into their prior conversation.

“You didn’t want me to know what?” 

Eddie takes a breath in, then turns his gaze to his hands, intertwined atop the blanket. He doesn’t think he can look at Buck while he says this. 

“I didn’t want you to know how much it hurt. How angry I am. I didn’t want to tell you because then you would realize that I’m not enough, that I am angry and hurting all the time, and I’m not worth the trouble. I didn’t want you to know that about me. I didn’t...I didn’t want you to leave me.”

Buck doesn’t say anything. Eddie risks a glance up at him and sees that there are tears in Buck’s eyes. He hates himself for putting them there.

“Oh, Eddie,” Buck says, and his voice is as soft as anything. He grabs Eddie’s hand, rubbing his thumb in circles on the back of it. “Eddie, there is not a thing you could say to me that would make me leave you. That would make me stop loving you. I’m gonna be right here, no matter what. I’ll be here when you’re hurting, angry, upset...I love all of you, Eddie, not just the parts of you that you show to the world. All of you.”

He’s briefly interrupted by a whoop of joy from the hallway, a mix of Harry and Chris. Eddie looks back up at Buck, who’s smiling despite the tears on his face. 

“And all of Chris. I’m not going to leave either of you, Eds. Even if I get mad at you sometimes. Even if I am mad at you for not telling me that you were hurting.”

Eddie’s crying too, now, and he feels Buck’s hand gently grab his chin, lifting his head so they lock eyes. 

“You are more than enough, Eddie. For Chris, for the 118, for me...we all love you. We’re all right here. You don’t need to keep going through all of this alone.”

Eddie nods, feels a sob escape him, and then Buck’s holding him, incredibly gently but still grounding, running fingers through his hair and telling him, over and over, that he is enough. That he is loved. This just makes Eddie cry more, until finally he pushes Buck away, for once wanting to meet his eyes.

“I love you,” he says, and even after everything Buck’s said to him, he panics for a moment and wonders whether this is too much, and then Buck is moving towards him, slowly, looking at him like he wants confirmation that this is what Eddie wants, and of course this is what he wants, of course it is, and it must show in the look that he gives Buck in return, because the distance between them rapidly closes, and then he is kissing Evan Buckley, and Evan Buckley is kissing him. 

“Eww!” 

The two of them break apart in surprise, and Buck laughs softly, resting their foreheads together. The door to the room opens, and Chris, Harry, Athena, and May walk in. 

“Kissing’s gross,” Harry says, and Chris nods. May whacks her little brother on the head. “What?” Harry protests. “It is.”

Eddie looks at Chris, for a second terrified that his son is going to hate him for this, but then Chris gives the most exasperated sigh that Eddie has ever heard come from a child, and he says, “I guess kissing’s okay.” Harry looks at him with betrayal on his face. “It’s still gross, mostly” he reassures, “but it’s not the worst. ‘Specially since we’re at the hospital. You’re supposed to kiss people better.”

Eddie smiles at his son, and he catches Buck doing the same, looking so incredibly happy and bright that it’s damn near painful to look him straight on.

“Yes!” May says suddenly, and she meets the questioning gazes of everyone in the room, looking up from her phone, where she’d been furiously texting. “Hen and Bobby and Dad owe me $20. I owe Chimney $20, too, though.”

Athena gives her daughter a look. “You bet on this?” she asks. 

Eddie feels himself blush, and sees Buck’s cheeks darken, too. Had this been that obvious?

“Mom,” May starts, but Athena interrupts her. “And you lost to Chimney?”

May nods. 

“And so did Bobby.”

Another nod.

“So we collectively owe Chimney $60. I can’t believe it. I swore I’d beat him. Ooh, he is gonna gloat.”

“Athena!” Buck yelps, mock hurt. “You bet on this?”

“It was a matter of time, Buckaroo.”

Buck smiles at her, and then turns his face back to Eddie. “A matter of time, huh?”

Eddie nods. “Apparently so.”

aghhhh thanks so much for reading this!!! i had literally the best time writing it and i hope you enjoyed!!!

[reservethesun]

im sorry i couldn't not jump on the opportunity can we pretty please get forth beam with like hurt/comfort. idk forth doing normal engineering things aka gets into a fight for honor and doc beam to the rescue

Ahh thank you for your prompt! I love ForthBeam so much. T_T I feel very rusty with writing rn and I don’t know how good this is going to be, but here you go. Not a whole lot of actual like... traditional hurt/comfort but more Forth finding comfort in being around Beam and things being normal between them.

Word Count: 1658

Forth groaned as he tried to sit up fully, using the wall behind him to prop himself up. He wasn’t sure how he got to that point. He’d only stepped in to try to help and he’d thought that he had the upper hand. Until suddenly he didn’t - but at least the kid he’d stepped in for had run off. Forth would count that as a win, even if he was pretty sure that he looked a mess and that he wasn’t going to be moving normally for a while. Forth let out a small, almost bitter laugh - Beam was going to murder him.

Speaking of Beam, it seemed just thinking about him did wonders because his phone started to play Beam’s ringtone. Forth thought about letting it go to voicemail while getting himself to the hospital to get looked over, but then he was sure that would only make it worse when Beam found out he’d gotten hurt and hadn’t said anything. “I was just thinking about you,” Forth greeted as he answered the call, doing his best to not let the pain he felt obvious in his voice.

“Where are you at? You were supposed to be here ages ago,” replied Beam. He sounded a little distracted - he was probably studying while waiting for Forth to show up so they could grab dinner like they had planned. 

The sound of a page being turned on Beam’s side of the call reinforced Forth’s assumption. “Ah. Just hanging around,” Forth said, trying not to wince. He exhaled slowly, shifting the phone so that he didn't breathe directly into the speaker. He shifted wrong in his attempt to get up and was unable to mask the involuntary sound that escaped him, making it very clear that he wasn't as okay as he seemed. 

“What did you do this time?” Beam sighed heavily and Forth could easily picture him pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Look. There was this kid and I-”

“Where are you?”

Forth hesitated. He was sure that Beam was intending to come find him, if only to scold him for being impulsive and reckless again. “On campus. I’ll be there soon.”

“Where on campus?”

Forth could hear the sounds of Beam closing his textbook and things being shuffled around - probably him searching for his wallet and keys. “I’m fine. I’ll be there soon. You stay there and keep your pretty nose in that book.”

“Uh-huh. If you’re so fine then why are you still there and not already on your way here?”

Forth faltered at that question. He had no good answer because Beam was right. If Forth really was as fine as he was saying, he would’ve already stood up and started to make his way to Beam’s dorm. Yet he still sat there, vaguely sure that the only reason he was able to sit up like he was was because the wall was behind him if the way his side was hurting was any indication. He guessed the guy had kicked him after he’d fallen. Forth couldn’t really remember. It had all been a big blur, as fights tended to be. At least in his experience. He didn’t think he hit his head besides the fist that hit his face a couple of times. But it was fine. Forth got in several hits of his own - his knuckles were bruising to prove it. “I’m fine. I’ll be there soon. But, uh… could you make sure you have some ice?”

“Forth.” Beam said his name more as an exasperated sigh than a real word. It made Forth wince which hurt more than he would have liked. His face was probably turning pretty colors.

With a groan, Forth used the wall behind him to brace himself and stand up. Doing so left him a little out of breath but he was able to stand on his own and the world didn’t spin around him like it did the last time he’d been in a similar situation. “I’m up. I’m moving. It’s good. I’m fine.”

“What do you mean you’re up?” Beam snapped.

Forth gave a short, airy chuckle in response. “I just mean that I’m okay - just a bit banged up. I’ve had worse.”

“That doesn’t make it okay. You said-”

“Was I supposed to let that guy keep wailing on that kid?” Forth could hear the slight click of Beam’s teeth from how quickly and hard he closed his mouth at the question. They both knew that Forth wouldn’t do that. “That’s what I thought. Now. I’ll be there soon. If you promise to be nice and tend my wounds for me.” Beam didn’t answer, just sighed heavily through his nose but Forth took that to be a confirmation and he promised to see Beam soon before he ended the phone call.

If he was limping a little when he walked, well he was just glad there was no one around to prove it.

It didn’t take him too long to make his way to Beam’s dorm. Honestly, trying to navigate himself up the stairs took longer because his side hurt to a point that it was difficult to breathe after several steps up. None of his ribs felt out of place, though, so he was sure that it was just strain and bruising. He was also aware that he was probably just being a baby and that none of it was anywhere near as bad as he felt it was right then - his pride was probably more injured than he actually was, but damn that guy could throw a punch.

Forth knocked on the door to Beam’s apartment once he reached it and it opened almost immediately after. Beam must have been waiting by the door for him to show up. Beam reached out and grabbed his chin, directing Forth to turn his head this way and that to inspect the bruises forming on his face. “I know I’m pretty but are you going to keep me out here all night?” asked Forth. He smiled when Beam huffed out a breath but let go of his face and moved aside. “Promise it’s not that bad. Just some bruising to my face, hand, and side. You’ve seen me worse.”

“That doesn’t make it okay,” Beam replied. He gestured for Forth to go sit down on the couch before disappearing into his bathroom so that he could grab his first aid kit. He returned to the other room and sat down on the couch. Neither one of them said anything as Beam used a cotton swab to put some antibacterial ointment on a small cut Forth had on his face. Forth wasn’t sure if it was from being hit or from when he fell. There were no other cuts or anything, which they both took to be a good thing. Just some swelling and bruising.

Beam activated the instant ice pack in the kit and wrapped it loosely in a thin towel before placing it on top of Forth’s knuckles on the hand he had used to punch the guy he fought with. “Hold it there,” Beam instructed.

“Thank you, Doctor Beam,” said Forth with a smile.

Beam struggled not to smile in return, fighting against the upward twitch in the corners of his mouth as he cleared his throat. “Anything else?”

“I love you?” Forth’s smile took on a more cheeky nature when Beam just sighed and rolled his eyes before gathering up the kit to return it to the bathroom. Forth didn’t mention his side hurting because he was sure it was nothing. It was all nothing in the grand scheme of things. 

After he put up the kit, Beam returned to the couch. Forth immediately shifted closer to him and leaned against his side. Beam seemed to struggle with himself for a few seconds before he lifted his arm and wrapped it around Forth’s shoulders, letting Forth shift even closer to his side. “You know, for someone who hurt me far worse than this guy did yo-” Forth started to tease Beam, chuckling when his boyfriend interrupted him.

“That was an accident!” he insisted. It truly had been an accident, they both knew it. Beam would never purposely hurt Forth. 

“Well. Just keep it in mind that you did more than just a black eye next time you get mad at me for defending someone.”

“I’m not mad that you defended someone.” That wasn’t why he was always obviously annoyed that Forth had gotten into another fight. There was always a good reason for the fight, he knew that. Forth didn’t go around picking fights just to pick fights. Still, he didn’t like seeing Forth hurt.

“Mn. But you are mad.”

Beam sighed inaudibly and hugged Forth a little closer, to the point that Forth was practically on his lap at that point and he rested his head on Beam’s shoulder as he got comfortable where they were. Beam wasn’t mad. He knew it seemed like he was, but he wasn’t. He was just… worried. And he didn’t like seeing Forth hurt. Beam found it easier to show anger than concern. Even if there was always that tinge of concern on the edge of everything he did and said. Forth knew him well enough to know that by that point in time, but it didn’t stop Forth from poking at the obviously angry actions and tone of voice. “Let’s watch something instead of sitting here with you being all frowny and glaring at the wall,” Forth suggested.

“I am not-” Beam sighed when Forth reached up to place a hand to his lips to shush him, letting the ice pack fall to the floor.

“Shh. I’m hurt. Let me choose what we watch.”

“Ai’Forth!”

Forth smiled with a laugh as Beam removed his arm from around his shoulders, but Beam didn’t move away and let Forth set his head on his shoulder again. 

[moody-bloosh]

moth to a flame (Risotto Nero)

passione project time, i know i haven’t finished any of the series im working on but i have no self control so here it is. wow, im so so happy to finally be able to share this story with you all, i’ve been working on this since 2019 and i am so so glad that this first part is done. y’all know this was supposed to be a story with abbacchio. but while i was coming up with the finer details of what i wanted the story to be i felt like risotto fit the story more. so anyway here it is. also this is a bit of a spicy piece, so please be warned. I think this is one of the heaviest fics I’ve ever written so please skip this if you are feeling faint. 

also finally i wrote a cheating au with risotto! but this time, you guys are the ones cheating!! i had another one planned but mayhaps, please enjoy this food for the time being. uwu 

i hope you all enjoy this beCAUSE I SURE DID ENJOY WRITING THIS SUFFERING. also fem!reader im sorry i couldnt write this with gender neutral pronouns :( 

content warning: cheating, domestic abuse

pairings: (mentioned) Diavolo x Reader, Risotto Nero x Reader 

“We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy.” - Aemon Targaryen, A Game of Thrones 

You are not his.

He knows that, he knows that very well. But still, he tempts fate. Because what is he to do when the love of his life belongs to another man? Belongs in fact, to the strongest man in all of the land: the Emperor, himself, Diavolo.

It is routine for him now, to visit you long after the Emperor has left your bedchambers. He clasps the jar of soothing balm in his hands and when he is sure that there are no more prying eyes trained on you or him. He slowly knocks on the door. He makes sure to vary each knock so that you know it is him and no one else. 

He hears you shuffle around your room and then your small voice comes through the door, telling him to, “please, come in.” 

Risotto steels himself; he has seen more horrific things in his life, in his line of work, it is inevitable. But he can never quite get used to the sight of your bruised up body as you open the door for him. 

As always, your smile is radiant, beautiful, unhindered even by the bruises that dot your body. He brings a trembling hand over your cheek, to brush against the bright red mark left undoubtedly by the emperor’s own hand. You lean into his cold touch, a soothing balm against your burning cheek. And your heart grows heavy at the thought of him standing outside your door, privy to all your crying and pleading. 

“I am sorry you had to witness all that unpleasantness, Risotto.”  

He kisses you on your forehead as gently as he can. So that he doesn’t cause you any more pain than necessary. 

“I am sorry I cannot protect you from him, your majesty.” 

And though some part of you hates it, some part of you wants him to just take you away. You know that doing so would only be a death warrant. No, he could not protect you from Diavolo now. But someday soon, if Heaven was kind enough. Soon you could do as you wished, but for now you had to endure. You had to survive. 

Some day, some day Diavolo would receive his comeuppance. But for now, you would hide your fangs and bide your time. 

it was much easier passing time when you had Risotto by your side, after all. 

When Risotto enters your chambers he is no longer just your bodyguard. He is your beloved, the only man who has ever treated you with a shred of sincere kindness since you entered the palace. You can still remember the day he had been introduced to you. All doom and gloom, a monster in the shape of a man, you had thought. And Diavolo had smirked at the sight of your fear. 

You were so frightened by his strange eyes, but upon closer inspection. You found something familiar lurking within them. So even though it frightened you, you resolved to be kind to him, you decided to give him all the love you were not given a chance to devote to the Emperor. 

Because you saw little parts of yourself in him, someone broken, someone lost, someone cast out. And you had hoped that perhaps, if you could befriend him, you could stave off the loneliness that you believed you would be resigned to. 

For someone like him, who knew only of taking and destroying, for you to gift him with softness and tenderness, how could he ever have stood a chance? Before he knew it, you had planted yourself firmly into the labyrinth of his heart. Where once he had hoped only to serve you, to protect you… He found himself wanting you, desiring you for himself. 

Though in the past, he had attempted to deny his feelings for you, he gradually found that it was as futile as attempting to count the stars in the sky. He was drawn irrevocably to you, the sweet Empress with a smile that could warm even his cold, blackened heart. 

The two of you were permitted to be together only under the cover of darkness. In the pitch black secrecy that night offered, he could call you his and you could call him wholly and truly yours. 

He treats your wounds and bruises as calmly as he can though it breaks his heart each and every time to see you so battered. Every fresh bruise has him imagining how he will kill Diavolo, how he will make him suffer as you have suffered. And this he will never admit out loud, but some deep, dark part of him marvels at how you have managed to last this long. He thinks that perhaps in some twisted way, even Diavolo, himself, was not immune to your charms. 

He takes on a dangerous expression as he considers the Emperor. The man who was the primary cause for all your suffering. And you reach out to him with a soft touch, you ruffle his hair playfully and bring him out of his dark thoughts. 

“Tonight, let us not think of displeasing things, my love. I don’t want to waste any of these precious moments I have with you, after all.” 

As you leaned in to kiss him, he would hold you. And when you pulled back for a breath, he would pepper feather light kisses all over your face. He would touch you with a softness you never would have known that he would be capable of. Some days he indulges, he holds you while you sleep. Some days he is weak and with your permission, he gives in to his more carnal desires. Usually, he holds your hand as you fall asleep. 

And always, before you drift off to sleep, you tell him. 

“I love you.” 

Risotto always tells you that he does not deserve your love. But you had simply thought that such declarations were simply part of his reserved, humble nature. 

You had no idea that it was because there was a weight around his heart that prevented him from truly reciprocating your affections. He had a secret, a secret not even you were allowed to know. 

But he was your darling, beloved Risotto… Your only friend, your only ally. 

He could never hurt you… could he? 

“Serve the Empress well as her bodyguard,” Diavolo instructs. 

He doesn’t even bother to look at Risotto when he issues his commands. His gaze is trained only on the portrait of you set haphazardly in a corner of his room. Later, he will instruct some servant to set it up properly before your arrival. He had to keep up appearances after all. 

“And when the time comes that I have no more need of her…” 

Risotto keeps his eyes trained to the floor. He is impassive, already used to whatever outlandish thing the Emperor demands of him. These days he wonders, if he had known you sooner, would he have reacted differently? 

“Eliminate her.” 

Risotto bows, “as you wish, Imperatore.” 

That night replays in his mind like bleeding out on the floor. It cuts into him, day in and day out, never fully healing. He feels the wound grow deeper whenever you smile and look at him like he is all the good in the world, whenever he feels your soft breath against his chest as he holds you on nights that are too difficult, whenever you tell him you love him… 

He holds you tighter then and you remain blissfully unaware as to his true function. You think that he is simply being sweet with you, so that will prompt you to hug him back. You nuzzle against him and you tell him that you love him. Not knowing that your kindness, your tenderness, only twists the knife lodged in his heart. 

“I will protect you, _____,” Risotto tells you quietly. “I swear it.” 

“I have no doubt of it,” you say, a radiant smile blooming on your lips as you look up at him. “I feel safest when I am with you, my love.” 

He kisses you then. He feels guilty, he feels delirious, he is so in love with you. That is why, he doesn’t want to tell you, he doesn’t know how to tell you. And how could he? How could he bring himself to reveal that he was sworn to end your life should the Emperor wish it? So he kisses you instead, as if that will solve everything. 

He hopes that you can forgive him for his selfishness. 

He loves you. He loves you more than anything in this world. 

And that is why he cannot tell you. 

All he can do is hope that the day should never come that he is to end your life. 

Until then he will serve you with all his might, he will comfort you when you weep in his arms, he will kiss you with all the passion he keeps barely restrained, he will bring you the medicine you so desperately need to treat the scars and bruises that pop up more and more frequently when your husband visits. And on nights where the Emperor is far away and there are no eyes trained on the two of you, he keeps you company, he keeps your bed warm.

He is your bodyguard, sworn to protect you even at the cost of his own life. And yet, he does not even know how to protect you from himself. 

[tartagilicious]

Can you write a Lawrence/MC after his ending where he leaves one day to go supply hunting and the MC is finally able to escape but she sees him getting attacked by a couple of guys and decides to save him because she ultimately does still care about him then when she gets him back to safety and is taking care of him he asks why she helped him instead of leaving and she just says something like "because I'm not you" then maybe he can reflect. Sorry if that's too detailed lol

I really like this prompt you gave me, personally, though I did change it slightly. I had a fun time writing this. It turned out better than most of my requests usually do!

* no editing on the second half because 😔✌️im sick and I don’t feel like it that’s all lol so I apologise for any mistakes

—

You shudder when you hear the basement door slam shut, suddenly leaving you alone in the all-but-homey basement yet again. When Lawrence had initially saved you from the horde of zombies, he had made sure to mention that there was enough food to keep both of you going for a while — almost as if it was supposed to be equal to a sort of incentive for coming with him and leaving your other friends to die.

But, in retrospective to the virus, it wasn’t necessarily a bad promise.

You had liked Lawrence at one point, and as hard as it may have been to know that, your opinion of him couldn’t change that fast. He was smart, empathetic, and even if you didn’t like it, he always knew what he was doing. There was no choice but to trust in him then, especially when his iron grip on your wrist unfairly startled you into it.

Yet, ironically, it was the last straw when his calculations ended up being wrong.

Supplies dwindled faster when he thought you were comfortable enough to being doing so, but he was stuck when he realised how close you were actually cutting it. You suddenly had to worry about your food again rather than the man in front of you, and it was scary. It really was.

To be so young and stare despair in the face isn’t something you ever pictured yourself doing, but now, you do it helplessly everyday in the reflection of circle framed glasses.

You flip on the light switch again when you’re sure that Lawrence is gone, and immediately sink to the floor. Emotions pour out of you in the form of stagnant breaths, leaving you choking on the musty air. This happens often — you bottle up the very emotions Lawrence encourages you to share, and let them out when he can’t see.

Maybe it’s petty of you. But you don’t care.

Because the last thing you want is for him to see you break down. You’re powerless enough around the boy as it is.

But this time, the swirl of complicated emotions in chest isn’t just from the usual; it’s fear. You had forgotten about the crushing reality of the apocalypse outside, and how hard it really was to survive. No matter how cunning Lawrence pretended to be, life always had the last laugh.

You sit slumped against the wall for god knows how long, trying to find peace in the messy cracks on the walls. But you give up when they begin to blend together, and only finally avert your eyes when you begin to see them shifting.

It has taken you a long time to learn that reality is altered in the place you’re forced to call home. Dark days are filled with pleasant treatment from your so-called admirer, but leave deep scars on you no amount of love can fix. You sadly think that not even your eyes know what to see anymore as you try to blink away your confusion, adjusting to the room around you instead.

The basement had become unfavourable in almost no time flat, with its lonely walls and industrial scheme — and especially the twisted safety inside of it. It was moments like those that you looked at the stairs leading up to ground level and wondered what would happen if you just decided to leave everything behind.

If I left Lawrence, would he hunt me down again?

That thought keeps you grounded every time.

But your intrusive thoughts already have a streak of zero to one, and before you can stop it, your curiosity leads you up the basement stairs implanted deep in your memory and onto the ground floor.

He’s not here, he can’t do anything about it. Stop worrying.

Then you realise that you have no business worrying about Lawrence, someone who is god knows where, when such a mess is in front of you. The hallway’s routine scent of old blood fills your nose faster than you can react, immediately calling up tears. Your memories of the friends you’d lost burn brightly in your head — and the memories of seeing their faces for the last time makes you sick.

In a daze, you turn away and pinch your nose. Tears catch in your lashes and make your vision blurry as you open your eyes while you walk away, but you don’t care. You just want to get away.

Cautiously, you hug your jacket tighter around you as you get closer and closer to the doors. It’s been months since you’ve been let out of the basement, much less outside — and you have no idea what to expect. Did the government make any progress? Or, assuming the worst, has the virus really begun to do lasting damage?

You’re afraid to find out, but with the adrenaline and fear pumping through your veins, you push the doors open without a second thought. It’s a stupid idea, but when you’re stuck between the fear to escape and the fear to stay put, there’s only so many things you can do.  

Sly footed and calm: that’s what Lawrence has always told you to be in the presence of a zombie. But strangely, and thankfully, you don’t see a single other moving thing as you manoeuvre the door to quietly shut.

Time moves slowly as you stand there and think. You’re anxious in the premonition that a zombie will pop out, and because of this your thoughts are jumbled, but you still manage to remember the bare details you’d so scoured over about the safe zone the night before you were supposed to leave with your friends.

It shouldn’t be hard if I don’t stop for anything. You think to yourself. Maybe I’ll prove those men from before wrong and make it there fast.

That would be best.

The fact that you hadn’t thought to grab any weapons alarms you, but you spot what looks like the old remnants of a plank of wood a few feet away and figure it’s good as anything.

It’s slightly heavy to lug along, but you walk fast in your nervousness, so you don’t see the big deal in it as long as you keep pace. And you do so as quietly as possible, scared beyond belief at the possibility of your luck going dry and leading you to encounter exactly what you hope to avoid.

Yet it seems like your luck is about to run out when you hear the unmistakable grunt of a group of zombies. No more than a few, you think, but it’s still a few too many. And like the sensible person you think yourself to be, you’re about to distance yourself from them as fast as possible.

But then you hear something else. Something else distinctly human that you can’t help but stop a second time for. Betraying every nerve in your body that screams for you to move, you stop for the sole chance of finding someone else.

You curse under your breath as you grip the plank tighter in your grip, the pieces digging into your skin as you peek around the corner in front of you — close, and also the very place that the ruckus is coming from.

Though you seriously consider retreating back again when you notice that it’s Lawrence having a hard time. He seems to be handling the small group of zombies around him fairly well, anyway, armed with a short metal pipe and his normal malicious intents.

Still, he’s not superhuman. It’s obvious that he’s getting tired, and might not even last much longer if he lets that get to him.

Would it matter if he dies?

He’s all I have left.

He locked you up.

He doesn’t treat me badly.

He killed your friends.

You have a hard time arguing with the devil on your shoulder on that one. But your good senses, still intact, luckily come back in time to help you figure out what to do in the nick of time.

There’s nothing that will come out of leaving Lawrence to die. As much as you’ve admittedly fantasised about something ripping him away and finally freeing you, you would be at a disadvantage without his guidance. Lawrence’s leader qualities hadn’t gone anywhere, and it wasn’t as if his good traits never existed.

As much as you hate to say it, there’s a part of you that still cares about him.

Gritting your teeth, you rush in and make your presence known. All of your emotion is projected into a hit that knocks a particular zombie back onto the ground, and completely startling Lawrence to an extent that it almost makes you proud.

“What are you doing?” He hisses, but he doesn’t sound angry. His eyes are wild and panicked, but not in the same way you’d seen when he killed that man all those months ago — he just seemed scared. “Why are you here?”

You hold your tongue as much as you can. “That doesn’t matter, focus on what’s in front of you!”

A guttural noise of disapproval makes its way out of his throat, but dissolves upon the movement of his arms swinging the pipe directly into a zombie’s distorted face. You do the same to the ones closer to you, using the piece of wood to slam up to where their chin should be and knock them back a considerable distance so that when they came back, they were easier for Lawrence to deal with.

The system works well with your teamwork, and soon enough, all of the zombies that had gathered are at your feet.

The atmosphere is so tense you expect him to start yelling even there, but surprisingly, he doesn’t.

“Thank you, ___.” He pants, his face slightly red as you just stand there and take in his words. “I don’t know what would have happened if you weren’t there to help.”

You nod hesitantly, finally letting the plank rest against your legs as it had grown heavy.

“...But, why did you help me?” He asks this with bunched brows, as if the prospect confuses him. And you’re glad it does, because still, the last thing you want is misunderstanding the way you feel.

“Because I’m not like you.”

Something in Lawrence’s eyes shifts, similar to realisation. If only it was.

“Come on,” You wave a hand reluctantly, motioning for him to follow you. “Let’s go somewhere safer before any more show up.”

He just stares at you, completely uncharacteristically quiet. But you would be lying if you said it didn’t finally make you feel powerful.

Maybe, from now on, things can be different.

— 

read more of my works! ♡

[fierceawakening]

Against empathy 17

“Finally, empathy is related to compassion and concern, and sometimes the terms are used synonymously. But compassion and concern are more diffuse than empathy. It is weird to talk about having empathy for the millions of victims of malaria, say, but perfectly normal to say that you are concerned about them or feel compassion for them. Also, compassion and concern don’t require mirroring of others’ feelings. If someone works to help the victims of torture and does so with energy and good cheer, it doesn’t seem right to say that as they do this, they are empathizing with the individuals they are helping. Better to say that they feel compassion for them.”

But what’s compassion? In the neuroscience it seems to be “empathy + motivation to help” or sometimes, if the study is noting thei differences, something like “awareness + motivation to help.” Which would make compassion something more than a feeling?

I’m not as wedded to this, most common usage suggests compassion is a feeling. But If it is... if it’s com with + passion suffering/intense feeelong, that sounds a lot like affective empathy. So ???? What is

“But this claim about the relationship between empathy and certain good traits is an empirical one, something that can be tested using standard psychological methods. For instance, you can measure someone’s empathy and then look at whether high empathy predicts good behaviors such as helping others. Now this is easier said than done. It’s hard to accurately measure how empathic a person is. But there have been various efforts, and it turns out that the relationship between empathy and goodness is weak. In fact, we’ll see that there is some evidence that high empathy for the suffering of others can paralyze people, lead them to skewed decisions, and often spark irrational cruelty.”

Oo! Data! Forthcoming data, at least.

“If it turned out that the first fact follows from the second—that the nastiness associated with psychopathy is due to an empathy deficit—that would be an excellent case for the importance of empathy. But this is also the sort of thing that you can test in the lab, and it turns out to be unsupported. As we’ll see, the problems with psychopaths may have more to do with lack of self-control and a malicious nature than with empathy, and there is little evidence for a relationship between low empathy and being aggressive or cruel to others.”

Oo! Data! x2!

Very interested in what a malicious nature is, and whether it includes responses to others emotions. Nonconsensual sadism, for example, seems malicious and also seems like a response grounded in emotion. “I feel happy re your pain” vs “I feel sad re your pain”

“Think about your judgments about throwing garbage out of your car window, cheating on your taxes, spraying racist graffiti on a building, and similar acts with diffuse consequences. You can appreciate that these are wrong without having to engage in empathic engagement with any specific individuals, real or imagined.”

But those are bad because they upset or harm other people. Being aware that they do is part of why I don’t do them. Have we established that not wanting to upset or harm others is distinct from empathy? You assert that it is but I’m still not sure what you’re saying the mechanisms are. To the data!

“But, again, it’s easy to see that this is a mistake from everyday examples. I see a child crying because she’s afraid of a barking dog. I might rush over to pick her up and calm her, and I might really care for her, but there’s no empathy there. I don’t feel her fear, not in the slightest.”

Do you have to literally feel her fear to empathize with her? Or is it enough to, say, wince when she cries?

“Then there is all the laboratory evidence. We’ll see research from the lab of Tania Singer and her colleagues showing that feeling empathy for another person is very different from feeling compassion for that person—distinct in its brain basis and, more important, in its effects.”

That will help.

“We’ll learn about research into the effects of mindfulness meditation suggesting that the boost in kindness that this practice results in part because meditation allows one to stanch one’s empathy, not expand it.”

So will that. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen studies claiming the opposite. Huh.

““Reason,” David Hume famously said, is the “slave of the passions.” Good moral deliberation requires valuing some things over others, and good moral action requires some sort of motivational kick in the pants. Even if one knows the best thing to do, one must be motivated to do it. I believe this—I’ve never heard a good argument against it.”

Dances in the end zone.

“But it’s a mistake to see this as an argument for empathy. The “passions” that Hume talks about can be many things. They can be anger, shame, guilt, or, more positively, a more diffuse compassion, kindness, and love. You can be motivated to help others without empathy.”

Once again, I’m wondering how you define more diffuse here, but if you dohave data, I concede you may be right.

“He considers empathy but then rejects it as too weak: “it is not that feeble spark of benevolence which Nature has lifted up in the human heart.” Instead he pushes for some combination of careful deliberation and a desire to do the right thing.”

Where does the desire to do the right thing come from? That’s the dispute we’re having, or part of it anyway.

“I agree with this as well. Empathy can be used to support judgments and actions that, when we reason about them coolly, are morally virtuous. If the right thing to do is to give food to a homeless child, then empathy for the suffering of the child can motivate this giving. If the right thing to do is to expand our moral compass to include members of a once-despised group, empathy for members of that group can bring us there.”

Are you me? Because this is what im saying, that we have feelings and we check them against our reason and then act.

Sometimes we don’t have to check them against our reason, though, and that’s where we disagree. If my friend is sad, I can generally assume I don’t have to doubLe check whether I should comfort them (though I might ask if they’re a hugger) because daily life involves lots of shortcuts and they’re not alwTz bad.

“I have a personal example of this. When I was a graduate student, I read an article by Peter Singer arguing that citizens of prosperous countries should direct most of their money toward helping the truly needy. Singer argued that choosing to spend our money on luxuries like fancy clothing and expensive meals is really no different from seeing a girl drowning in a shallow lake and doing nothing because you don’t want to ruin your expensive shoes by wading in to save her. I was moved by this argument and would repeat the analogy to my friends, often when we were in bars and restaurants, and it suddenly occurred to me that we were engaged in the moral equivalent of killing children.”

I’m... I’m glad you don’t do something you believe is evil but that doesn’t hold at all.

“In Larissa MacFarquhar’s recent book, Strangers Drowning, she talks about the lives of do-gooders or “moral saints.” These are people who devote their lives to others. They know that there is immense suffering in the world, and unlike almost everyone else, they can’t direct their attention elsewhere; they are driven to help. Some of the individuals she profiles are deliberative and rational, similar to Zell Kravinsky.... But others who are profiled by MacFarquhar are individuals of feeling; they are emotionally moved by the suffering of others. This sensitivity often makes them miserable, but it can also push them to make a difference in ways that most of us would never even contemplate.”

Thanks for poin ting this out. It’s fascinating for one, but for two...

I do not at all consider myself a moral saint, but I do think I attempt to do good for the second reason. I suffered a great deal as a child and I feel strongly that the buck stops with me. I can’t save everyone, but the thought of anyone going through what I did if I can stop it revolts me, so I act.

When you tell me this revulsion SHOULD NOT motivate me, I don’t know what to do with that, sir.

Because I suspect you would approve of the actions I take or try to, but I don’t know that I can promise you I will keep doing them if I try to somehow force myself not to imagine the suffering of disabled kids like me.

THAt is why I disagree with you. Because I literally can’t promise I’ll keep going if I ignore the way I feel. And I know you’d rather I be mr. Kravinsky because you’re a singer fanboy

But I’m not.

“Or consider a recent study by Abigail Marsh and her colleagues, of people who choose to donate their kidneys to strangers. Consistent with my argument, these exceptionally altruistic individuals do not score higher on standard empathy tests than normal people. But they are different in another way. The researchers were interested in the amygdala—a part of the brain that is involved in, among other things, emotional responses. Their previous research had discovered that psychopaths had smaller than normal amygdalae and lessened response when exposed to pictures of people who looked frightened, so they predicted that these do-gooders would have larger than normal amygdalae and greater than normal response to fear faces. This was exactly what they found.”

I’ve heard that too but I heard that having the big amygdala IS associated with high empathy. Which I figured stood to reason because higher abilitgy to pick up fear from faces is reading emotions and parsing people’s emotions is necessary to vicariously feel them.

Interested to look that one up.

“Our bias shows up when we think about the power of fiction to stir up our empathy. Many, including myself, have argued that novels like Uncle Tom’s Cabin and Bleak House prompted significant social change by guiding readers to feel the suffering of fictional characters. But we tend to forget that other novels push us in different ways. Joshua Landy provides some examples: For every Uncle Tom’s Cabin there is a Birth of a Nation. For every Bleak House there is an Atlas Shrugged. For every Color Purple there is a Turner Diaries, that white supremacist novel Timothy McVeigh left in his truck on the way to bombing the Oklahoma building.”

This I agree with. I just think it’s important to use both empathy and reason because of this thing.

“The good news is that there are other ways to change people’s minds. We can, for example, use the truth. I know, that’s very old-fashioned. But consider An Inconvenient Truth, Al Gore’s documentary about climate change. That film did a huge amount for the environmental movement, all without making up a single lovable character or a single line of witty repartee.”

Okay but are you sure no one is empathizing with victims of climate disaster when watching it?

“But there is a continuum here. On the one extreme is empathy. This is the worst. Then somewhere in the middle is compassion—simply caring for people, wanting them to thrive. This has problems as well but fewer of them, and we’ll see that there is experimental evidence—including both neuroimaging studies and research on the effects of meditative practice—suggesting that compassion has some advantages over empathic engagement.”

A definition! Stop hiding those in walls of text, bruh.

Still interested in how caring doesn’t ultimately come from emotions about others also. To the data!

“Reason is subject to bias—we are imperfect beings—but at its best it can lead to moral insight. It is reason that leads us to recognize, despite what our feelings tell us, that a child in a faraway land matters as much as our neighbor’s child, that it’s a tragedy if an immunization leads to a child getting sick or if a furlough program leads to rape and assault—but if these programs nonetheless lead to an overall improvement in human welfare, we should keep them until something better comes along.”

Agree.

“I don’t mean to rag on my colleagues, but there is a certain lack of self-awareness about this point. It is one of the ironies of modern intellectual life that many scholars insist that rationality is impotent, that our efforts at reasoning are at best a smoke screen to justify selfish motivations and irrational feelings. And to make this point, these scholars write books and articles complete with complex chains of logic, citations of data, and carefully reasoned argument. It’s like someone insisting that there is no such thing as poetry—and making this case in the form of a poem.”

I’ve noticed that too. But I’m not sure this is totally fair. What I see (that I think makes sense) is the argument that we are more emotion driven creatures than we admit, and that often we hold to the idea that something is rational if we THINK we haven’t emoted about it.

I think this is often untrue, and that were actually less likely to err if we are reflective enough to admit “my emotions and my reason seem to concur on this point.”

“To take a specific case, I will argue that our empathy causes us to overrate present costs and underrate future costs. This skews our decisions so that if, say, we are faced with a choice where one specific child will die now or twenty children whose names we don’t know will die a year from now, empathy might guide us to choose to save the one. To me, this is a problem with empathy.”

Not a utilitarian, so unsurprisingly I don’t automatically agree. If I kill someone and explain I meant to save others in the next generation, cool motive. Still murder.

[pastelwitchling]

The prompt is courtesy of @toooldtoactcool

Following his discharge, Alex takes the recently vacant position with the sheriff’s department.  As the the new guy, he’s on Saturday night jail duty.  Michael keeps goading Max to arrest him so he can spend time with Alex who has been avoiding him.

I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I couldn’t put Alex in those awful sheriff’s department outfits, he’s too cute for it. Not to mention, he’s a genius, I felt the sheriff thing a little beneath his ability. I hope my take on it is okay, though ❤

***

               “Seriously?”

               “What can I say?” Michael smirked. “I’m a menace to society.”

               Max glowered at his brother from behind the bars, his arms crossed. “You know this is pathetic, right? If you want to talk to him, just talk to him. It’d make all of our jobs a hell of a lot easier.”

               Michael stood. “You don’t think I’ve tried? The guy’s freaking military, Max, if he doesn’t want me near him, it’s gonna be damn hard to get near him.”

               “Getting yourself thrown in a cell every day is not what he wants, and you know it,” Max said, his expression softening. “We need him, Michael, and because of you, he’s started to hesitate coming in here. You have to stop.”

               “No, Max,” Michael shook his head, holding onto the bars. “I need him. And he won’t talk to me. I’m running out of options here.”

               Max pursed his lips, then sighed. “You want me to talk to him for you?”

               “No offense, buddy, but I don’t really need a wingman,” Michael said. “Especially not my own brother.”

               Max scoffed. “You need all the help you can get.”

               “Who’s going to need help?” Alex suddenly said, walking in, his eyes on the papers in his hands. Michael, without really realizing he was doing it, stepped closer to the bars, trying to get as close as possible to Alex.

               “Oh – uh –” Max tried, but before he could get a word out, Alex looked up and his eyes caught Michael.

               If Michael wasn’t who he was, if he hadn’t known Alex as well as he did, then he may have missed the subtle way Alex tensed, the way his fingers tightened ever so slightly on his papers, the way his eyes seemed to shine for a split second, only to be shadowed with an overbearing darkness that spoke of resignation.

               If Michael hadn’t known Alex, he might’ve missed all of that. But he did know him, so he hadn’t.

               “Sorry about my brother,” Max said, but Michael couldn’t miss the way Max moved aside to give Alex a better view of him.

               “Bar fight?” Alex asked, his eyes on Michael, and Michael shrugged a shoulder. Alex then looked to Max, and as he approached them, he said, “Then what are you apologizing for? You’re not the one in a cell.”

               His tone was curt, his stand cold and distant, as if Michael was a common criminal. Part of Michael knew he should sit back down, to stay quiet for the remainder of the time that he’d be stuck here, to think of another way to talk to Alex, but he couldn’t move. With Alex so close, Michael felt himself drawn to him, his body refusing to pull away from the bars.

               “I finished up those security details you wanted,” he said, handing the papers to Max. “Fixed a few miscalculations, looked over the entry and exit points. Pretty basic stuff, but I wanted to doublecheck everything.”

               Max looked over the papers, and after a while, nodded. “Alex, this is amazing. Hey, thank you for coming in, all your help. I know you’ve been busy lately, with your enlistment period ending.”

               Alex’s brows furrowed. “Wait, how’d you know my enlistment period was…” he trailed off, and Michael saw him glance at him before quickly looking away, sighing. “Right. Well, don’t worry about it. I’m glad to keep busy.”

               Max looked like he wanted to say something, his eyes softening as they usually did just before one of his comforting talks, except this time, Michael knew it would be on his behalf. To his luck, before Max could say anything, his two-war radio sounded on his belt, and he picked it up.

               Michael only heard static as he focused on Alex who was looking over his work again, though Michael had the strong suspicion he was just doing it to avoid having to look at the cowboy. He didn’t know if he felt great or sick about that.

               Before he knew it, Max was talking about needing to head out, and he asked Alex if he wanted a ride back with him. Michael swallowed, his hands tightening to fists around the bars as he thought about Alex leaving, but Alex shook his head, smiled, and said he would drive himself back.

               Michael barely registered Max walking out, his eyes on Alex, trying to figure out what to say.

               “Are you hurt?” Alex suddenly asked, his eyes down.

               For a second, Michael thought he’d heard him wrong, but when Alex glanced at him, he cleared his throat, and smirked. “Uh – why? You wanna nurse me back to health?”

               Alex rolled his eyes and started to walk off, but Michael, in a panic, grabbed his sleeve through the bars. “Okay, alright, I’m sorry, don’t leave. I’m sorry.”

               Alex raised a brow at him, and Michael let go of his arm, holding his hands up in defense. “I was just… trying to make you laugh.” When Alex looked unimpressed, Michael swallowed and said, “Just – just a few bruises.”

               He shook his head. “If this is your attempt at getting my attention –”

               “—it is –”

               “—it sucks,” he said. “Do you have any idea what this past week has been like? Walking in every morning just to see you beat up? Most people use a phone, Guerin.”

               “Would you have picked up?” Alex said nothing, and Michael pursed his lips. He wasn’t completely surprised, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed. “I didn’t know you hated me that much.”

               Alex frowned. “I don’t hate you, you know I don’t. Don’t say that again.”

               Michael’s eyes caught Alex’s, and when Alex looked away, Michael stepped closer, the two a mere few inches apart. He loved seeing Alex in jeans and flannel, the shirt folded at his forearms, a watch and a string bracelet from Maria’s mother on his wrist – so rugged, so grownup, so…

“You look good,” he said quietly, searching his face. “How’ve you been?”

               “Better than you, apparently.” He shook his head. “Guerin, you have to promise me you’ll stop doing this. You’re going to get seriously hurt.”

               “You know none of those bastards could touch me if I didn’t want them to.”

               Alex scoffed, looking at Michael incredulously. “So you’ll risk either breaking a bone or revealing your secret?”

               “If that’s what it takes to talk to you,” Michael said, coming as close as he could to the bars so that his body was pressed against them, and he was close enough to Alex to whisper. “You’re avoiding me, and I can’t – I can’t take it.”

               “We survived ten years without each other.”

               “No, this is different, you know it is. You’re here and you’re not here at the same time.”

               “I tried to be here, and you threw me away,” Alex whispered, but it was enough for Michael to feel his anger and pain vibrate through him.

               Alex’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and the words died in Michael’s throat. “I was terrified, and I took a chance for you, and you chose someone else. What do you want me to do? Smile every time I see you? Laugh with you like we’re best friends? Like seeing you doesn’t kill me? What?”

               “Alex…” Michael trailed off. Even when he had nothing else to say, Alex’s name came to his lips, but what could he say to wipe that look off his face? The one that told Michael that he just didn’t trust him anymore? The one that hoped for a word of comfort, but knew he wouldn’t get one?

               He opened his mouth, not knowing what would come out, when Max walked back in, a struggling skinny man, Joel, in his hold.

               “Found this idiot right outside,” Max said as he handcuffed Joel to his desk, seeing as how Michael was occupying the only cell there. “Drunk out of his mind.”

               “Only one who’s drunk is you, Sheriff,” Joel slurred. “You saw the way that filthy Mexican looked at me! If I hadn’t pulled a gun out, he woulda’!”

               “Yeah, yeah,” Max said. “Meanwhile, you’re always here.” Michael noticed Max harshly close the cuff around his wrist, and he snorted. “Maybe it’ll give you time to think, or, you know, whatever that mess of a brain usually does in its spare time.”

               Max sighed, his hands on his hips. “You guys good to stay here with him for a bit while I go draw up the paperwork? He’s harmless.”

               Michael pressed his lips together, wondering whether or not he should remind Max that both he and Alex were perfectly capable of keeping themselves safe no matter who was locked up in there with them, but before he could make the retort, Alex politely said, “Don’t worry, we’re fine.”

               Max nodded, ignoring Joel’s accusations of unjust treatment as he walked out.

               “I didn’t do nothin’ wrong,” Joel complained as Michael tried to speak to Alex, though Alex looked like he was done talking.

               Michael stuck his tongue in his cheek, and quickly, he lost patience. He and Alex both snapped at Joel to “Shut up!” and the racist seemed to realize then that he wasn’t alone in the room.

               His eyes glossed over Michael and settled on Alex, and his expression soured. “Oh, great,” he whined. “I’m really screwed if the fag is outside the cell. This whole country’s goin’ to the flower boys and caravans!”

               Michael stared. “The hell did you just call him?”

               Joel narrowed his eyes. “You his boyfriend or somethin’?”

               “Guerin, stop, don’t engage with him,” Alex said calmly, seemingly unbothered by the insult. “He’s not thinking clearly.”

               “When is he ever?!”

               “Hey,” Joel whistled, “freak! The sheriff’ll listen to you. You tell ‘im to let me go, or I will make your life a livin’ hell, boy. I can do it, I have that power.”

               “Good for you,” Alex said thoughtlessly, his focus on his papers, then he mumbled to himself about security details.

               He was so busy with his thoughts, he didn’t notice Joel grab a stapler with his free hand, but Michael did. Joel threw it, and just before it hit Alex’s head, it froze in midair. Alex didn’t look particularly startled that it was flying, only that it had been stopped, though Michael’s glare was more focused on a shocked Joel.

               Michael felt his blood boil, the energy coursing through his veins, his head throbbing as he forced the stapler open, turning it against Joel in the air.

               “You,” he growled, “are gonna pay for that, you asshole.”

               “Damn it, Guerin, stop!” Alex hissed, taking the stapler in his hand. While Joel stuttered behind him, he turned to face Michael, his voice low. “What were you thinking?”

               “He was going to hit you!” Michael said. “Now, get out of my line of vision so I can blow him up.”

               “I can look after myself,” he said, and went to place the stapler on the opposite side of the desk, all the while, Joel stammering nervously.

               “Hey, d-did you see that? That stapler flew, did you do that? Hey, freak, answer me –”

               Joel grabbed Alex’s arm, and Michael saw panic flash across Alex’s face for only a split second before he grabbed Joel’s wrist, turned his arm, and in a flash, Joel’s face was on the desk, his arm twisted painfully over his head as he screamed, Alex pressing down.

               “Grab me again,” he said quietly, his voice dark, “and I’ll tear your arm out of its socket.”

               Joel wailed loudly, tears running down his drunk face as he screamed, “I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry, p-please!”

               But it was as if Alex couldn’t hear him, his eyes out of focus.

Michael moved his lips, his words silent. “Alex,” he finally said, his voice soft, but it seemed to be enough to wake Alex out of his trance.

               The airman blinked, his brows furrowed, and once he realized what he was doing, he stepped back quickly as if Joel had been on fire. He held his own hands up in front of him, his expression a mix of shock and horror.

               “Alex,” Michael tried, “Alex, it’s okay.”

               “I – I have to – go, I…” Alex backed toward the door as Max came in.

               “Alright, Joel, let’s get this over…” he trailed off, looking at the mess of papers on the ground, the crying Joel slumped over his desk, the distressed look on Michael’s face, and he frowned. “What the hell happened? Hey, Alex, are you okay?”

               Alex nearly jumped at Max’s hand on his shoulder, muttering quick apologies as he hurried out, despite Michael calling him to come back.

               Max kept his eyes on Joel as he approached Michael. “Okay,” he said, his eyes dark, “what’d you do to Alex? What’d you say to him?”

               I-I look in the mirror, and I… I don’t even see myself sometimes. I see my father.

               Michael shook his head. “I don’t think it’s what I said, Max. I… I think it’s what I didn’t.”